With or Without You
by KeepTheHeid
Summary: April 1912. A story of romance and survival set against a backdrop of the most dreadful disaster in maritime history. Carla/Liam
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so this is my first piece of writing in a **_**very**_** long time. I used to post on this site under a different name but completely out of the blue, about six years ago, it totally dried up and I found myself unable to write a word in what I can only assume has been a monumental case of writers block. It's been incredibly frustrating and I can't quite believe it's been so long but I've had this idea in my head for quite a while and wanted to at least start the ball rolling before the anniversary of the sinking of the _Titanic_. You would not believe how long it's taken me to write this and the standard of the writing is not quite as high as I would have liked but here goes ...**

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><p><strong>April 10th 1912<strong>

'There she is! Look! I can see her!'

The young man awoke with a start having been lulled off to sleep by the gentle rhythmic sway of the carriage. He shook his head to rid it of sleep and lifted his eyes to gaze along with everybody else out of the window where just visible over the roof of the dockyard buildings were four enormous funnels, three of which were producing small wisps of smoke.

'Isn't she just magnificent!' his younger sister exclaimed in excitement, clambouring over her brother to press her face up against the window of the railway carriage.

'Wow,' she breathed as she gazed up at the four transcendent funnels which as yet were the only visible part of the ocean liner.

The train was slowing ready to spew out a long line of passengers, all of whom had travelled to the port to view the spectacle on hand or for the lucky few, to actually board the gigantic vessel bound for America. The carriage rattled past a series of dank looking buildings which blocked the sunlight throwing the train and its passengers into the shadows but as they approached the station it veered slightly to the left revealing the hull of an immense ship. Six pairs of eyes stared incredulously out the window as the entire vessel came into view. 900 feet long and 175 in height, weighing over 52,000 tonnes. A triumph of British engineering by any measure.

Liam let out a low whistle earning himself a reproachful glance from his mother.

'It's massive!' his sister, Michelle, gasped. Her mough was agape.

'It is that,' Liam breathed. He stared at the ship in astonishment as the train came to a stand still, bowled over by the sheer size of the thing. 'How does it stay afloat?' he wondered aloud though nobody seemed to have an answer.

'Southampton Terminus!' a uniformed conductor bellowed from the front of the carriage. 'All passengers for Southampton Terminus!' Liam tore his eyes away from the magnificent spectacle and got to his feet. His father slid the compartment door open and together, they joined the throng of people waiting to disembark.

Young Michelle was practically jumping up and down in her excitement. At just sixteen years of age she was the youngest member of the party. Her face was fresh and youthful, her skin glowing in the morning sunlight which was pouring in through the windows of the carriage, bathing them all in its golden warmth. She had been blessed with beautiful, shiny black hair which, much to her mothers chagrin, she would not allow to grow any longer than shoulder length. It was pinned up elegantly at the back, held in place with a silver clasp which had been gifted to her by her grandmother. Her dark hair stood out in stark contrast with her ivory coloured dress which flowed over her bodies natural curves beautifully. The corset top had taken some getting used to. Never having worn one before her sixteenth birthday, Michelle had found it difficult to adjust to the uncomfortable and sometimes painful tightness but as her mother had said, it was something every woman had to get used to. Michelle had cursed the garment and longed for her loose fitting dresses she had worn as a child but secretly enjoyed the way the corset pulled in her waist and accentuated her small breasts.

Her two brothers, Liam and Paul were very similiar to look at and equally as striking. at twenty-one and twenty-five, both were regarded as fully grown men though at times one would have been forgiven for mistaking them as children. They often behaved as such, particularly the younger of the two. Both tall and dark they were the object of secret lust amongst many young women back in their home city of Manchester. Liam was more muscly than Paul who was also slightly smaller in height though both gave off an aura of natural self-confidence which had many members of the opposite sex swooning.

Paul had left his fiancee back home with the promise of many deluxe gifts from America on his return though Liam was somewhat of a disappointment for his parents in that department. He had so far refused every hand offered to him and many had been. The Connors were one of the wealthiest families in England and without a doubt the wealthiest in Manchester. It was every parents dream to marry their daughters into such a family although so far, Liam had shown no interest in finding himself a wife.

Barry and Helen were the last two members of the family, parents to Michelle and the boys. It was them who had paid for the five of them and the maid to travel first class to America and back owing to the need to visit Helen's sister who had relocated several years back and had fallen ill some weeks ago. She had insisted Helen and the clan stay put but with no sign of her illness easing, the Connors had decided the best course of action would be to join her and ensure she was being provided the care she deserved. Helen was a very elegant lady with short, blonde curls that had been pinned perfectly in place that morning by the maid though were hidden somewhat by the rather grandiose hat she wore on her head. Her cream silk dress adorned with ruffles and plenty of lace swept the ground as she walked and nipped in her waist similiarly to Michelles, showing off her enviable figure. She walked arm in arm with her husband who was dressed in his best black tuxedo complete with matching black bow tie and shoes that had been shined to perfection. His hair was white as snow which he put down to the result of raising three children and his blue eyes had a sparkle to them which when he smiled, gave his face a look of great kindness.

The young maid brought up the rear. A twenty-something year old with long brown, wavy hair which was tied back in a plait, dressed in a housemaids usual attire of black dress with white pinafore. She came from a working class family in the outskirts of the city and had worked her way up through the ranks to earn herself the position she had acquired some months ago as housemaid to the Connor family. A position envied by many a young girl in lower class Manchester. As she walked, she stared up at the grand ship and thanked her lucky stars that she had come to work for the Connors when she did otherwise she may have missed out on this chance of a lifetime. Her mother had been bursting with pride when she told her she was going to be sailing on the maiden voyage of the Titanic and had wasted no time informing neighbours and other family members of her daughters windfall.

'Michelle! Stop pushing,' Paul scolded his young sister as she tried to elbow her way through the crowd of people descending on the harbour. He gripped her shoulder firmly as they walked knowing that if she was seperated from the group it may take a while to locate her amongst the masses.

Michelle huffed at her brother but fell into step by his side, feeling her mothers eyes burning in the back of her skull.

'Wow!' she breathed again as they reached the docks and the ship came into full view for the first time.

'The largest passenger steam ship in the world,' came her fathers voice from behind. 'The _Titanic_,' he smiled somewhat proudly as though he himself had been involved in the building of the vessel. 'Isn't she a beauty?'

'Not bad I suppose,' said Liam who was gazing at the letters on the ships body.

'RMS Titanic,' Paul read, following Liams line of vision. 'What does RMS mean?'

'Royal Mail Ship,' Barry answered. 'It means that this ship is contracted to transport international post. A privilege that is only issued to ships operated by the largest and most important lines.' He let out a chuckle, 'White Star Line is certainly one of those.'

'And here's me thinking it stood for really massive seaboat,' Liam muttered under his breath, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from his elder brother.

The port was a hive of activity. 'Chaos' was the word that sprang to Liams mind. There were people in every direction lugging suitcases towards the ships bridge, people saying their farewells to loved ones, children ran back and forth on the dock giggling excitedly. There were passengers hanging about waiting to board, ships officers and members of the ships company, porters, officials, staff from the port itself and people with notebooks and large cameras who Liam could only assume were reporters.

'Passengers, sir?'

A uniformed porter had materialised seemingly from nowhere and now stood watching Barry expectantly.

'Yes, yes,' Barry said. 'All passengers.' He pointed out each member of his family to the man and gestured towards their cases, each bearing a red and white sticker with the words 'White Star Line'.

'Very good, sir,' the porter said, 'May I see your tickets, please?' Barry handed them over and watched as the man scrutinized them for a few moments. 'First class,' he said. 'You board from the forward entrance.'

He gestured towards a gangway which Liam had not previously noticed. It seemed to be a lot quieter than the others.

'Thankyou,' said Barry. He took the tickets back and stored them safely in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The porter was already loading the suitcases onto a trolley when Barry turned back to him. He wheeled them towards the foot of the main gangway where a ships officer was waiting, expertly dodging groups of chatting people and overly excited children to get there. The porter removed their luggage from the trolley and made his way back to the Connors, standing by Barry expectantly. Barry nodded his thanks and handed him a few coins. The porter touched his cap in acknowledgment and turned away in search of more customers.

At that moment, a babble of noise broke out behind them and Liam turned to see another train had arrived bringing second and third class passengers from Waterloo.

'Shall we go?' Asked Helen pointedly, her mouth twisted in a grimace. Liam had to refrain from rolling his eyes. His mother was such a snob at times, looking down her nose at less fortunate souls, thinking them inferior because they had none of her class. Liam however, was intrigued by such people. Sometimes he found himself yearning to be like them, to have none of these silly airs and graces and social requirements his mother seemed to thrive on. To be free to wear whatever he wanted, to do whatever he wanted and to marry whomever he wanted.

He watched as a young family disembarked from the train. A pretty young woman laughing at her husband, bouncing on his shoulders a young child who shrieked in delight and grabbed fistfuls of his fathers hair. Behind them an elderly couple followed in their footsteps, clasping hands and smiling affectionately at the infant and behind them, a young woman carrying a single suitcase. The most striking young woman Liam had ever seen with hair as black as pitch tumbling loose over her shoulders, her sun-tanned skin shone a radiant and healthy glow and her facial features more discernible than that of any woman Liam had ever met. She was dressed in a simple skirt and blouse though both looked as though they had seen better days. She walked alone, staring up at the ship in awe. As Liam watched, she lowered her eyes to a rectangular piece of paper clutched in her hand and then back up at the ship, her mouth slightly open as though bewildered that in a few hours time she would actually be sailing upon it.

'Liam! Are you coming or not?' Paul shouted over his shoulder. Trailing behind his parents and sister, he was already seven or eight paces ahead of where Liam stood and in danger, Liam could see, of being swallowed by the crowd if he himself didn't get a move on. He stole one last glance at the girl with the dark hair just as her eyes fell from the bow of the ship and landed directly onto his. He felt a jolt in his stomach, an unfamiliar feeling he couldn't quite place. His mouth had suddenly gotten very dry. As he watched, the corners of her mouth rose up into a small smile and a pinkness tinged her cheeks. He lowered his own eyes quickly, embarassed at being caught staring and took off through the crowd, after his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**A little mention here to the three lovely people who reviewed, you really did make my day and gave me a much needed confidence boost so thankyou for that.**

**Quick note: All that happened (or didn't happen) between the Titanic and the SS New York is historical fact and was later considered an omen for what was to come.**

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><p>Standing on the boat deck watching the crowds below, Liam thought to himself that this was a moment that would stay with him for the rest of his life. The view from the top deck was just incredible, the hordes of people on the dockside having doubled since he and his family had boarded the ship, turning out to wave loved ones goodbye or just to view the spectacle of the worlds greatest passenger liner departing on her maiden voyage. It was akin to a whole army of people crammed into the harbour. Hundreds upon hundreds of them waving handkerchiefs and scarves, whistling and shouting, crying tears of farewell. It was a sight to behold.<p>

Back on deck the number of passengers lining the rails had increased too. One man at the far end held a large camera, one of the new ones that took moving pictures and as Liam watched, he directed the lens towards the crowd and peered through some kind of eye-piece while fiddling with some buttons on the side.

'Look,' Paul nudged his brother in the ribs and gestured towards the funnels, three of which were producing a considerable amount of white smoke. 'They're warming her up.' His voice had risen with excitement. Like most others he had been completely swept up in the event. 'We'll be on our way soon!'

'And we'll be in America before you know it,' Barry added with a laugh. He was standing to Liams left leaning against the railings, one arm linked through his wifes. Michelle was standing by their side gazing down at the lower class decks which were teeming with people shouting and calling to friends and relatives on the land, waving vigorously and pushing their way forwards, every one of them searching for a free length of railing and a good view. Compared to them, the first class deck was positively quiet. Almost as though their fellow first class passengers thought themselves above such frivolous, self-indulgently carefree behaviour. Liam glanced around at the people standing stoically on the deck and wondered how spoiled by privilege a person would have to be to not be swept up in the whole glorious event.

The bellow of the ships siren sounded in a long, deafening blare. Liam glanced at his watch; it was just before noon.

'This is it!' Paul shouted over the din of the people below. Michelle gripped the railings with both hands and took a subtle step closer to her brothers. Her face was pale, like the milky colour of porridge. Liam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. 'It's alright kid,' he said quietly. 'Nothing to be afraid of here.'

'But what if something bad happens?' Michelle asked in a small voice, 'While we're out at sea and there's noone there to help?'

'Nothing bad will happen,' Liam reassured her. He gave her shoulder a comforting rub.

'How do you know?'

'What, haven't you heard?' he waited until she shook her head. 'This ship is unsinkable,' he declared with a grin.

Michelle rolled her eyes and looked up at him. 'How can a ship be unsinkable?'

'I don't know,' he answered, 'but this one is.'

'He's right, kid,' said Paul who had been listening in. 'That's what all the experts say.'

Michelle rolled her eyes again and turned away but secretly felt a little better.

They watched in silence as down at the port the gangways were hauled up, the hawsers holding the ship to the pier were released, the heavy lengths of rope splashing into the water and, with three piercing blasts of a whistle, slowly but surely the great liner began to ease majestically away from the harbour wall. A slight vibration ran through the deck as the propellers were fired up and the great ship started to gain momentum.

Final words of farewell were bellowed across the harbour as the gap between the people standing on the land and the huge ship widened.

Several smaller boats were anchored in the harbour, standing idle due to the recent coal strike. Among them, another White Star Line vessel, the _Oceanic_ stood silently as if intimidated by this new superior vessel and moored alongside her, the slightly grander _SS New York_. The _Titanic_ sailed by, perhaps a little too quickly in the restricted waters of Southampton harbour as she made her way down the narrow channel that would take her out into open sea, creating a substantial bow wave as she went. The boats moored at the harbour wall rocked dangerously as they were disturbed by the _Titanics_ wake and as one particularly large wave hit the side of the _SS New York _the whole ship was picked up high in the water and, as the wake passed, crashed back down into the void behind it.

Two loud cracks echoed through the air and although Liam had never heard such a sound before, his brain put a word to it immediately: gunshots. He instinctively grabbed hold of his little sister, ready to pull her from harms way and, heart hammering, he spun around, searching for the source of the noise. Michelle was protesting, trying to wriggle free but Liam held her firm.

'What are you doing, Liam? Let her go!' Pauls hands were on his, trying to prise his fingers off Michelles arm.

'Where did it come from?' Liam said loudly, still searching for any sign of a gun.

'Over there!' Paul answered, gesturing over the side of the ship. His eyes were wide and he was staring at his brother as though wondering if he had completely taken leave of his senses. Liam looked to where Paul pointed and saw that the larger of the moored ships, the _SS New York_, had come adrift. 'The ropes holding it snapped,' said Paul, 'That was the noise!'

'Oh.' Liam felt his cheeks redden. He let go of Michelles arm and smiled apologetically at her. 'Sorry, kid. I thought for a second there ...' he trailed off, his eyes on the ship who'd lost its mooring lines.

The stern of the _SS New York _was swinging out into the seaway, heading directly for the side of the _Titanic_ as though it was being pulled towards them by an invisible rope. Shouts of alarm echoed in the air as crew members suddenly realised what had happened and what _could_ happen if the sideways motion continued and the vessel collided with them. The vibrations through the deck increased as the propellers direction was reversed in an attempt to slow the ship and reduce the wake but the smaller boat, about half the size of the _Titanic_, continued on its path until a collision looked inevitable.

'Goodness gracious! She's going to hit our side!' Helen said. She grabbed hold of her daughters shoulders and pulled her away from the railing. 'Come away Barry!' she called but he was too engrossed in the drama unfolding below. 'Boys!' Helen pleaded but got no response. They were too busy watching a small tugboat which had arrived on the scene, obviously intending to manouvre the unanchored ship out of the way, back to its correct position.

Within seconds, two lines had been thrown from the _SS New York _to the smaller boat, which Liam saw had the word _Vulcan_ painted on its bow, and had been swiftly attached and tightened. The _Vulcan_ roared away from the _Titanic_, doing its best to stop the sideways movement of the other ships stern. The boat visibly slowed but not enough. A collision was looking imminent.

More tugboats roared to the aid of the _Vulcan_. Hawsers were thrown, engines were revved and still, the _SS New York _drifted closer and closer. The _Titanic_ was reducing her speed but not quickly enough. Four feet away ... three feet ... people were starting to run for cover. Several darted for the stairs that would take them inside and possibly out of harms way. Others clung to the railings for support, crouching down on their heels. Screams could be heard from the lower decks and for a second Liam considered how terrifying it must be for the lower class passengers who could surely just see the gleaming black body of an enormous ship heading their way.

And suddenly it stopped. The ship lingered for a second until the combined effort of the tugboats managed to pull her away and slowly, the gap widened. Liam, knuckles white from gripping the railing so hard, almost laughed out loud in relief. He released a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.

'That was close,' he mumbled shakily to Paul.

'You're telling me?' Paul was looking over the railing, watching the receding ship and breathing heavily through his nose. The _Titanic_ had come to a complete standstill and as the engines shut off it became evident they were going nowhere for the time being. Paul ran a hand through his hair while he composed himself, straightened his suit jacket and turned to address his father. 'Why don't you take mum inside? he said in a surprisingly calm voice. 'She looks like she could use a brandy.'

'Could do with one myself,' Barry said. 'That was a bit too close for my liking.' He took his wifes arm and ushered her through the doors towards the main staircase.

Paul watched them go then turned to Liam, 'You don't think that was an omen do you? For the rest of the voyage' he muttered quietly, keen for their young sister not to overhear anything.

'Nah,' Liam said. 'It's like we said, isn't it?' He rapped his knuckles against the cold steel of the ships body 'Unsinkable.' he gave a knowing smile and turned back to the railings where Michelle was watching the crowd still milling around on the harbour. Some were still waving but their spirits seemed to have been dampened by the quick turn of events and many were fighting their way through the crowd towards the streets behind.

Liam was more interested in the people he would be travelling with rather than those they were leaving behind and shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered down at the lower decks which were considerably quieter than they had been ten minutes ago. _Probably all gone straight to the bar_ he thought though a good few remained outside. Most were watching the little tugboats manouvering the _SS New York _back into the correct position along side the _Oceanic_. Amongst them were a young couple, similiar in colouring and in class, leaning up against the rails. Liam recognised the long black, shiny hair of the young female as that of the one who had smiled at him back at the dock. The one whom he had assumed was travelling alone. As he watched, the young man put his arm right around her, gripping onto the railing at the other side of her waist, seemingly without even touching her, and pointed with his other hand at one of the little boats moored in the harbour. She laughed a little at whatever he said and playfully pushed him away but he didn't let go.

Liam watched them for a while, tuning in and out of Paul and Michelles conversation as to what it would be like to sleep at sea, and remembering the strange jolt he had felt in his stomach when she had caught him staring. He willed her to turn around and look up so he could see if it would happen again but she continued to gaze back at the harbour and after a while, her and her male friend disappeared indoors.

It was half an hour before they felt the vibrations of the propellers coming to life once more and the ship started to move away, leaving Southampton and England behind and heading out to open sea and the ships first port of call: Cherbourg, France.

Michelle and the boys remained out on deck for a while longer, watching as the Isle of Wight and the south coast of England slipped by.

'She moves surprisingly quickly for such a large ship, doesn't she?' Paul asked as he watched the waves rippling away from the _Titanics_ body.

Nobody gave him an answer but he didn't seem to need one.

'Come on,' Liam said, having noticed Michelle start to shiver slightly. 'Let's get inside have a look around, shall we?.' He strode towards the nearest door and pulled it open. 'Hmm,' he nodded his head approvingly as he glanced around. 'A gymnasium.' He slammed the door shut and turned back to the other two, 'There's a room I won't be visiting again!'


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the long wait between updates. I had a lot of difficulty writing this one and I'm not entirely happy with it but I hope it's okay anyway.**

**Thankyou to the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter. Nothing makes me smile like a nice review :)**

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><p><strong>April 11th 1912<strong>

'Ah, the ol' country,' Barry said in his lilting Irish accent. He gazed beyond the buildings of the harbour to the rolling landscape in the distance. 'I miss it more than I let on, you know.'

'I know you do, dear.' Helen patted his arm sympathetically and linked it through her own.

Having made the journey from France overnight, the ship had come to anchor at Roches Point, the outer anchorage of Queenstown harbour. It had been deemed too unsafe for the _Titanic_ to enter into the harbour itself what with the sheer size of the vessel and so, eager to avoid another incident like the one in Southampton, Captain Smith had brought her to a standstill a short distance off the coast of Southern Ireland while two small paddle-wheel driven White Star Line tenders transported those who were leaving the ship to the land and collected those who were coming aboard.

'It would be nice to disembark for a while,' Barry was saying, gazing wistfully at the small crowd which had gathered on the distant harbour.

'I doubt there would be anything of interest to see there,' Helen replied, eyeing the dank, dreary looking buildings blackened by decades worth of soot and pollution from the comings and goings of vessels in the harbour and the machinery on the docks.

'Oh I have no doubt about that, my love,' Barry said, patting his wifes hand. 'But it would be nice to be back on Irish soil for a while.'

After a while, the two little tenders left the harbour, carrying the last of the _Titanic's _transatlantic passengers, and headed for the the ships deep-water anchorage. As they approached, Liam could see that both the enclosed cabins and the open decks of both boats were crowded with people, many staring up at the huge ship in awe. He wandered along the railings, away from his family until he found a vantage point where he could watch what was going on some seventy feet below.

The first tender pulled up by their side and one by one, the passengers, who Liam noticed were mainly third class, stepped off of the small boat and onto the _Titanic_. On and on it went for at least half an hour until both tenders were empty of passengers and the embarkation was complete. A series of short, sharp whistles rang out confirming that all passengers had been transferred successfully and the two little tenders eased away and turned to head back to land.

A distant rumble sounded and a vibration ran through the decks as the anchor was raised and the _Titanic_ prepared to leave port for the last time until she reached New York city in five days time.

They watched, once again, until the ship had left the confinements of the harbour and the Irish coast had slipped steadily away behind them. Liam stood leaning against the railing, eyes closed, facing out to the open sea. The strong breeze whipped his hair around his face and the salty air stung his nostrils as he inhaled but it wasn't altogether unpleasant, infact, he found it to be very invigorating if he ignored the feeling of his mothers eyes boring disapprovingly into his back. He knew she wished sometimes that he would act more like the gentleman he was supposed to be but he felt no inclination to change.

Barry was examining his watch. 'Shall we have some lunch?' he asked. 'It's just past one-thirty.'

'Yes lets,' Helen said. She patted the back of her head, making sure her curls were still in place. 'I'd like to join Sir and Lady Sutherland at their table. Did you see them this morning, Barry? They were sitting two tables away from us.'

'I didn't notice, my dear.' He took his wifes arm in one of his own and his daughters, who was almost the same height as him, in the other. 'Come along, ladies,' he said. 'How about an escort for an old man?'

Michelle gave a little giggle and fell into step beside her father. He squeezed her arm affectionately.

'Will you boys be joining us?' Helen called over her shoulder.

It was Paul who answered. 'I think I'd prefer to stay up here a little longer.' Liam turned away from the railing and nodded his agreement. 'Perhaps we'll be down later.'

They watched as their parents and sister disappeared through the door to the first class entrance and the grand staircase which would take them down to D-deck where they would find the first class dining saloon.

The dining saloon was a grand room. Able to seat five hundred people at any one time, it had been labelled the largest room of any ship afloat. Intricate mouldings adorned the ceiling which was supported by fluted pillars, all painted an off-white colour and the large round-topped windows allowed the sunlight to stream through in glorious beams. It was a beautiful room to look at but not one which Liam was in a hurry to visit again having dined there twice already and both times felt thoroughly out of place. The social etiquette of a first class passenger did not come naturally to him.

'Shall we go to the Cafe instead?' Paul asked. He on the other hand, fitted right into this world of personal valets and eleven course meals.

'Cafe?' Liam said nodding his head approvingly. 'That sounds decidedly lower class.'

Paul gave a snort of laughter knowing his little brother would probably feel right at home in steerage. 'It's certainly less formal than the dining room but remember, little brother, manners must be upheld at all times.'

It was Liams turn to snort. He ran his hands through his hair and flattened down the front in an attempt to rid himself of the windswept look and fell into step beside Paul as they strolled the length of the promenade, past the smoking room and into the Verandah Cafe right next door. The Cafe and adjoining Palm Court had been designed to look like gazebos. They had black and white chequerboard floors and elegant wickerwork furniture and the whole room was decorated with a plethora of silk flowers and plants. Sliding doors gave access to the Promenade Deck and opened the room to gentle sea breezes when the weather permitted. Huge full length windows gave uninterrupted views of the ocean. The little cafe was intended to serve afternoon teas and light lunches rather than the colossal several course meals that were standard fare in the dining saloon.

They took a table in the corner next to one of the large ornate windows and placed their orders. The decorum in here was nowhere near as rigid as that in the main dining area. Even the waiter seemed a little more laid back as he placed a jug of ice cold water on the table and after a courteous nod to both gentlemen, retreated to his post by the pantry door.

'So you are aware why mum wants to sit with the Sutherland's, aren't you?' Paul began conversationally as he poured himself some water and raised the glass to take a sip.

'Because she's a snob,' Liam answered matter-of-factly. 'And she enjoys being around ...ah ... like minded people.'

Paul carefully placed the glass back down. 'And I suppose you thought all those couples introducing themselves to us last night were just being friendly,' he said.

'Well, weren't they?'

'Honestly, Liam,' Paul tutted. 'Sometimes I think you walk around with your eyes shut.'

Liam shuffled forward a little in his chair. 'Are you going to tell me what you're talking about or do I have to guess?'

Paul gave a little sigh and brought the glass to his lips again. 'Nice water, this,' he commented. He swirled it around in the glass and took another sip.

'Paul?'

He looked up at his brother and put the glass back down. 'The people that introduced themselves to us last night,' he said slowly, 'the Cardeza's, the Kimball's, the Beckwith's, not forgetting the Sutherland's of course.' Liam nodded his head slowly. 'What do they all have in common?'

He thought about it for a moment, allowing his eyes to wander to the Irish coastline, past which the ship was slowly moving. 'I don't know,' he said after a pause. 'Tell me.'

'They all have unmarried daughters.'

Liam snapped his head back around to look directly at his brother. 'You're not saying ...' He paused and let out a gruff laugh. 'You're not saying mum and dad are trying to marry me off, are you?' He was still laughing when Paul replied.

'That's exactly what I'm saying.'

Liams laughter died on his lips and he scrutinized his brothers face closely, searching for any sign he may be jesting. The smile slid from his own face. 'You're not serious?' he asked.

Paul shrugged. 'The passenger lists were revealed weeks before we set off.' he said. 'I'd put money on it that most mothers with unmarried daughters were scouring them in the hope of finding a young, rich, eligible bachelor for a son-in-law and you, little brother, tick all the right boxes.' He reached across the table and chose a roll from the basket in the centre. 'The Sutherland's have a good name and their young daughter is really quite pretty. It's no wonder mum's taken with them.' He glanced up from where he was spreading butter evenly on one side of the open roll. 'You could do worse, you know.'

Liam gripped the edges of the table and leaned forward. He eyed his brother surreptitiously and when he spoke he used hushed tones as though fearing their conversation may be overheard.

'I haven't even met her,' he said incredulously. 'I don't even know her name! I could walk past the girl a hundred times and not even know who she is!'

'Maria,' Paul said. 'Her name is Maria and as for you not having met her, well you'll do just that tonight.' He was suddenly feeling hard pressed to stop a grin forming on his lips. His brothers indignation was rather amusing to him and he felt all the more grateful that he had a loving fiance waiting at home. At least he was immune to their parents meddling. 'Assuming it's all going well just now, of course,' he added with a little smirk.

Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair again, ruffling it up at the back. He puffed air from his cheeks.

'I don't believe ...' he stammered, eyebrows furrowed. 'I can't believe they're trying to ...' He raised his indignant blue eyes to meet his brothers amused ones and felt a stab of anger shoot through him. 'How dare they?' he said. He slammed his hands down on the table suddenly. Several pieces of cutlery clattered to the floor. 'How dare they?' He roared. He kicked his chair back and pushed himself to his feet.

'Liam!' Paul hissed. Other diners were turning to stare. 'Sit down!'

Liam ignored his brother and in four long strides had crossed the room. He gripped the door handle and slid it open roughly.

'Liam!' He heard Paul call after him. 'Where are you -' The door slid closed with such force the glass rattled and with a final glare, Liam took off down the Promenade, ignoring the curious glances thrown his direction. He wrenched the door to the first class reception open, ignoring the greeting from the steward and all but hurled himself down the stairs. For the first time since boarding he did not pause to admire the architecture.

The staircase itself was an undeniably magnificent structure. It was essentially two staircases joined together, the outer sections leading down on either side to a half landing from which the lower part of the staircase descended in a pair of elegant sweeping curves. They were seperated by an ornate central banister at the end of which stood an intricately carved wooden pillar with a bronze carving of a cherub mounted on top. It held an electrical light in the shape of a flaming torch.

The staircase was for the use of first class passengers only and descended five floors from the boat deck to D-deck where the dining saloon was situated.

Down and down Liam went until he reached the first class saloon where his family were currently sat discussing his future over a serving of poached salmon with some fancy sauce. For a moment he felt tempted to burst through the doors and give them what for. Tell them all in no uncertain times that his life was his own and nobody else got to make such important decisions for him but he forced himself away. He wanted as much space as was possible between him and them at that moment.

Having ran out of stairs, he turned instead to a door on his right. Behind it lay a passageway with large ornate wooden doors every few feet. A handrail ran the length of the corridor, framed in a polished wood and from the ceiling hung a huge, opulent crystal chandelier. To Liam, it all looked a little posh for lower class accommodation which he would have assumed it was for being so far below decks and as he ventured further in his observation proved to be right. One of the doors was standing open and as he glanced beyond it he saw not an average room or a cramped cabin, but a huge space with golden carpets and plush red velvet panels on the walls. It was not dissimiliar to his own room up on A-deck. A chambermaid was busy tending to an unpacked suitcase and as she glanced at Liam her forehead creased in a frown, disliking his nosiness. He didn't bother to smile apologetically as he usually would have done but instead, stalked off down the hallway, his mood fowl.

He could see a door at the far end. A door far less elaborate in design than the others and which was surely too basic and plain to give access to a first class suite. He strode the length of the hallway and yanked it open, not bothering in the slightest where it led. He didn't even stop to read the little golden plaque which could well be stating that what lay ahead was restricted to crew members only. _Even better if it was_, he thought. _Less chance of being interrupted_.

What he needed at that moment was a bit of breathing space, some time to try and get his head straight before having to face his family that night at dinner because if what Paul had said was true, the Connor's would not be dining alone.

On the other side of the door lay a wide open space, The floor was wooden, bare of the plush carpets that adorned almost every first class space on the vessel and the walls were painted a plain, deep dark red. No pictures hung on them. No windows broke the monotony of the walls, there wasn't even any furniture with which to decorate the area. Two plain wooden doors stood tall in opposing corners, the only anomalies in an otherwise enclosed space.

Liam stepped infront of one of them and read the plaque nailed to the centre. 'Third Class Lounge', it stated. For a moment he thought about turning tail and finding another hiding place. He even took a half step back, after all, he had no business being there but in the end, curiosity won out and he pushed the door open and peered inside.

The space behind was large and wide open. Like the hallway he had just left, the floor was wooden and the walls painted a singular colour. Cream this time. They were adorned on three sides by numerous pictures and paintings and on the fourth by four large windows offering glorious uninterrupted views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Six wooden benches stood in the centre of the room standing back to back in two rows of three. They were high-backed with intricate patterns carved along the top, each was polished to a shine. Several more identical benches stood around the edges of the room and below the windows. It was simple and very basic, primitive even compared to the first class lounge but it was a room in which Liam could feel comfortable.

He slid through the doorway, closing it softly behind him and stood with his back to the wall. The room was about a quarter full. People were milling about, strewn across the benches or standing casually against the wall in groups or pairs chatting loudly while children chased one another around the furniture, shrieking with laughter. They had none of the restraint that children on the upper decks had forced upon them. Liams lip twitched and he allowed the corners to turn up in a smile as he thought of the outrage such behaviour would cause. A family with such an unruly child would likely be cast out of the social circle.

At the far end of the room a pair of eyes watched him. They belonged to an elderly gentleman in braces and an old tweed jacket with a pipe dangling from his lips. He wore a bunnet on his head which shielded his face from the sunlight though Liam could see a day or two's worth of stubble gracing the lower half. His gaze was decidedly hostile and Liam realised how out of place he must look in his crisp black suit though not in the mood to be beaten down, he stared right back at the old man and crossed the room, perching himself on a free bench underneath one of the grand windows. The man huffed and turned away. Liam felt a small victory had been won. He could sense more people watching him though it seemed to be out of curiosity rather than hostility. He allowed his gaze to wander over the back of the bench to the vast openness of the Atlantic Ocean and the cacophony of gulls, shrieking and swooping above the ships churning white wake. The rolling hills of Ireland were melting away in the distance and Liam experienced a rather curious sensation in his midriff as he realised that the shadows on the horizon were the last sight of land that he and anyone else on board would see for five whole days.

'Penny for them.'

Liam started and when he turned to see who had spoken, was met with one of the most striking faces he had ever seen. Startling green eyes that shone with the reflection of the sun on the water, plump full lips, soft, sun-kissed skin and perhaps the most striking feature of all - very high and very prominent cheekbones. It was a face Liam recognised. It belonged to the girl from the dock.

'Pardon me?' he asked.

'I was just saying penny for them.' The green of her eyes was an unusual colour, unlike any Liam had seen before. 'Your thoughts?' she said when he failed to reply. A smile graced her lips and she lowered her eyes as though overcome with sudden shyness. A dainty pinkness tinged her cheeks.

'Oh,' his throat suddenly felt very dry. 'Erm ...' He was finding it difficult to articulate. He was finding it difficult to do anything other than stare.

She shook her head a little. Her long black hair, so soft and inviting, shimmered in the sunlight. Liam felt a curious urge to reach out and touch it. 'That was bold of me,' she said, raising her eyes again to meet his. 'I shouldn't have said anything really,' her feet had already taken her a half step away from him. 'Apologies,' she mumbled and turned as if to leave.

Liam reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist. 'Wait,' he said, shocking himself with his own boldness, 'Just wait.' He looked up into her eyes and felt that unfamiliar jolt in his stomach again. The same one he had experienced the first time he had laid eyes on this girl back in Southampton. He swallowed. 'What's your name?'

She took a moment to answer. 'Carla.'

'Carla,' Liam said. 'Carla ...' he toyed with the syllables, allowing them to roll off his tongue while trying them against her face. 'It's beautiful,' he said.

She smiled a full smile that lit up her whole face. Her eyes seemed to dance.

'May I?' she asked, gesturing to the empty space beside him.

Liam simply nodded his head, suddenly aware that he was still holding onto her wrist. He relaxed his hold and allowed his hand to fall to his lap. 'Ireland,' he said.

She gazed inquisitively at him as she sat down.

'What I was thinking about,' he explained feeling a little stupid.

'Oh.' She laughed softly. Liam thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. A smile grew on his lips, his fowl mood of earlier forgotten.

There was a pregnant pause as their eyes made contact. The pinkness to her cheeks was back.

'You're blushing,' Liam said. She gave that beautiful little laugh again and broke eye contact to stare at her shoes. 'Forgive me,' he said, 'but you don't strike me as the retiring type.'

'Well perhaps it's because I'm not used to speaking with gentlemen like yourself.' Her voice was soft, not unlike her laugh, though heavily accented. Mancunian if Liam was not mistaken.

'Then why did you?' he asked.

She looked thoughtful. 'It's not often I get the chance to,' she said. 'And I don't happen to believe in the class divide. I mean, what makes you so different from me other than those fancy clothes?'

Liam gave a gruff laugh. He liked this womans audacity. 'That's a question I've been asking myself for years.'

She smiled that beautiful smile again and looked away. Her hair fell in a curtain over her eyes and Liam felt a curious urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. 'Is that what brought you down here?' she asked. She shook the hair back herself and fixed him with her extraordinary green eyes. Liam stared unashamedly at them and was suddenly struck by the power they seemed to hold. The beautiful oval shape perfectly complimenting her super high cheekbones, the long black fluttery eyelashes and that astonishing colour. One flash of them, just the one, could strike a man breathless.

'Not this time,' he said. He was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. 'Family issues,' he explained in answer to her questioning look.

Ah,' she laughed. 'Not an issue I have. Are you travelling with them?

'For my sins.' He pictured his parents and the Sutherlands seated around a table in the dining saloon discussing their childrens prospective nuptials and sighed. 'We've had ... a bit of a falling out.'

Carla watched him trace his finger around one of the carved patterns on the back of the bench. 'Anything you want to talk about?' she asked hesitantly.

Liam sighed and dropped his hand. 'Not right now, no.'

'Am I being too nosy again?' she asked bluntly.

He couldn't help but laugh. 'No,' he said. 'And you weren't earlier either. I'm glad you came over, I'd probably have looked a right idiot sat here by myself.'

'Well ...' she pulled a face as she looked him up and down. 'You do stand out a bit in that suit.'

He snorted and nodded towards the man in the braces and tweed coat who he had noticed earlier. 'I'll be sure to dress like that next time then.'

'Oh,' she laughed. 'Well don't forget the pipe!'

'I'm sure I could acquire a flat cap too if I tried hard enough.'

She dropped her eyes to her lap. 'Can I assume that you'll be spending a lot of time in steerage then?'

Liam licked his lips and swallowed, feeling the nerves creep up on him. 'Depends what the company's like,' he said.

'Oh well, we're a spirited bunch,' she replied. 'And I mean spirited in the literal sense. There's a lot of liquor down these parts.'

'Well if that doesn't tempt me then I don't know what will,' he laughed.

There was a pause as she glanced out the window. He followed her eyeline to the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. All was quiet now, the gulls not daring to venture too far from land.

'You know,' Carla said eventually. She spoke slowly as though choosing her words carefully. 'You know my name ...' she turned to look at him, '... but you haven't told me yours.'

Once again he found himself entranced by those sharp eyes.

'Liam,' he said. 'Liam Connor.' He wondered vaguely if she knew of the power she wielded.

'Well, Liam Connor,' she got to her feet and pushed the hair from her eyes. 'I really ought to be going.'

Liam stood too and proffered his hand for her to take. 'It was a pleasure meeting you, miss ...'

'Donovan,' she said as she slid her hand into his.

'Miss Donovan.' He brought her hand to his lips and pressed them against the delicate, soft velvety skin.

'Maybe our paths will cross again,' she said. She smiled that beautiful smile one last time and turned to leave. Liam watched her all the way to the door, inclining his head as she stole a glance before it closed behind her.

He touched his lips where her skin had been just moments before. 'Maybe they will,' he said.

* * *

><p><strong>If you would take a moment to tell me what you think I'll be forever grateful :)<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Thankyou, as always, to the lovely people who reviewed. This is a looong chapter so apologies in advance if it bores you :)**

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><p>'Somebody's cheered up then.'<p>

Paul was leaning against the frame of the door which gave entry to the ensuite bathroom. His legs and arms were crossed casually infront of him, his head tilted a little to one side. He scrutinized his younger brother who was standing infront of the dresser clad in only a complimentary bathrobe. Liam whistled a cheery tune as he towel dried his hair.

'Mmm' he said, 'nothing like a nice hot bath to relax you.' He flashed his brother a winning smile from under the towel and gave him a sly wink.

Pauls eyes narrowed as he watched Liam drape the damp towel embellished with the White Star Line logo over a high-backed chair and, to his surprise, perform a little dance as he shuffled over to the wardrobe.

'What's gotten into you?' he laughed. 'This afternoon you were all set to murder someone and now you're literally dancing around the room!'

'Well no point being miserable, is there?' Liam selected a crisp white shirt enveloped in a tailor made black dinner jacket and laid them out on one of the single beds next to a pair of plain, out-seamed black trousers. 'What's going to happen will happen and there is absolutely no point in worrying about it until it does.' He surveyed the outfit before him and grimaced.

'So does this mean you've come around to the idea of a Mrs Liam Connor?' Paul asked delicately.

'Do you think I'll look daft in a bow-tie?' Liam enquired as he pulled open the top drawer of a little mahogany cabinet by the bedside and selected a black bow-tie. He placed it carefully at the collar of the shirt and stood back to admire the full effect of his attire.

'No more than usual,' Paul answered flippantly. 'You didn't answer my question.'

Liam flashed his brother an enigmatic smile. 'What will happen will happen,' he repeated astutely.

'Indeed it will,' Paul agreed slowly. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what had caused such a change in his brothers attitude. He watched him test several pairs of silver cuff links against the dinner jacket, standing back to admire the effect of each. 'Are you finished in the bathroom?' he asked after a moment. 'I want a wash before dinner.'

'Mmm,' Liam said. He had turned to the top-of-the-range wireless on the corner of the dresser and was fiddling with the knob, turning it this way and that, chewing on his bottom lip as he often did when concentrating.

Paul took the noise as affirmation and stepped into the ensuite just as Harry MacDonough's voice blared from the little box, singing a merry little song about the Irish. He glanced back as he pushed the door closed and was forced into a double-take as his little brother sashayed across the room to the huge, glass mirror, swinging his hips rhythmically and miming the lyrics with vivacity into an imaginary microphone. Paul shook his head in bewilderment and chuckled as he clicked the door into place, wishing he had one of those new cameras that took moving pictures.

* * *

><p>On the uppermost landing of the grand staircase was a large, carved, wooden panel containing a clock with two classical figures symbolizing 'Honour' and 'Glory' flanking it's face which together, crowned time with an olive branch. The panel was every bit as regal and grand as the majestic staircase of which it overlooked and it was under which Paul and Liam met with their parents and sister, who all shared a second suite, at the stroke of seven.<p>

It was obvious to Liam from the moment he eyed them descending down to the half landing that his mother and father had dressed to impress. Helen was looking immaculate as usual in an ivory evening gown with plain satin shoes and long white gloves while Barry had opted for traditional menswear in the form of a tailcoat with white pique waistcoat, bow-tie and white gloves. Michelle wore a velveteen full-length gown embellished with a delicate lace around the sleeves and hem. It was the colour of rich emerald and stood out sharply against the pale blues, lemon yellows, creams and ivorys of the less contemporary dresses. Liam remembered her some months ago, begging their mother to allow her to be seen in such a vibrant colour, an argument she had won only after Helen had spotted the exact same shade on an evening gown in Vogue magazine.

Many an admiring eye was cast young Michelle's way as she descended down to A-deck and it was no mystery why with her shining, black hair pinned at the back, falling around her shoulders in a profusion of light, elaborately curled tresses and beaming dark eyes which swept the room shyly.

'Looking good, kid,' Liam said as she reached his side. He bestowed her a warm smile which she returned in earnest.

'Liam,' Helen clucked reproachfully, eyeing his hair which as usual, was standing up at the back. 'Honestly,' she said despairingly. 'Can't you do something about that?'

'I like it the way it is,' he said obstinately. 'Besides,' he looked at her pointedly, 'it's not as if I'm trying to impress anybody now, is it?' She cast him a contemptuous look and Liam had to refrain from grinning at his own boldness. He had decided not to rock the boat by mentioning their supposedly secretive plans over his prospective nuptials which he supposed was largely down to the good mood he had returned to A-deck in. His mother would be beside herself if she knew her youngest son had spent most of the afternoon in steerage which only served as another reason to brighten his mood. He was already determined to descend again if he got the chance and find the girl named Carla. He craved the feeling of liberation he now associated with her.

His mind was raised back up from D-deck by a sharp pain in his lower back as Paul dug his knuckles in and twisted them hard. It was meant as a warning to Liam to keep his mouth shut but Paul needn't have bothered. Sometimes Liam wondered if his brother credited him with any sense. He took an inconspicuous step back onto Paul's toes and heard him suck in a breath as they took his full weight.

'Come on then,' Helen said with an acquiescing sigh, oblivious to the silent exchange between her sons. She gave Liam's wayward hair one last reproachful glance before turning away and linking her arm through her husbands. Together, they lead the way down to the dining area.

* * *

><p>When Paul had described Lady Maria Sutherland as 'pretty' earlier that day in the Verandah Cafe, he had made no exaggerations. She was a young girl of nineteen with a youthful face which gave no lie to her years and soft, bright, radiant skin. Her brown eyes were open and honest and not at all difficult to read. It was clear to Liam that no underlying agenda was concealed beneath them and that she was not privy to their parents plans. Her hair was a light brown, not unlike the colour of her eyes and had been carefully twisted into soft, loose curls which fell in clusters around her shoulders. She had been gifted a figure many women would die for.<p>

Her conversation was neither ebullient nor witty but she was gracious, amiable and good-hearted. Liam found himself smiling jovially as he listened to her tinkering laugh and more than once he caught Paul smirking at the pair of them from the opposite end of the table. He longed to kick him sharply in the shin but refrained on the basis that the risk of missing and accidently assaulting another was high so he settled instead, for an intimidatory glare.

'Shall we retire to the deck?' Helen asked as she sipped the last of her tea and replaced the china cup upon its delicate saucer. She dabbed her mouth with her linen napkin and laid it neatly on the table as she rose to her feet.

'Yes, lets,' said the booming voice of Maria's father, Sir Eric Sutherland. He was a tall man. Square shouldered and strong limbed and though stout, not obese. He had broad eyebrows and a square forehead made squarer by a horizontal sweep of white hair and lips that looked a little too full for his face. He had spent most of the meal watching Liam attentively as though sizing him up as a future son-in-law and must have been satisfied with what he had seen for after hauling himself to his feet he leant over the table addressed Liam with perfect politeness.

'Will you be joining us, young sir? he asked.

Liam, who had been planning on retiring to the lounge for a sly whisky before bed, glanced between his mother and Maria, both of whom smiled encouragement. He sighed inwardly and tried to make his smile look sincere. Truth be told he'd had rather enough of family time for one evening. He craved a little solitude. 'As if I would miss a chance to spend time with your lovely daughter.'

He could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his lips knowing what they would imply to all when really they were meant as a polite and complimenting reply only.

'Good show!' Sir Eric hollered. His large face was turning more the colour of beetroot with every glass of wine he consumed. His wife, Lady Dorothy, was, in comparison to him, a tiny little thing. She was a woman of diminutive frame with a small pointed face and large brown eyes, not unlike her daughters. Her limbs were slim and dainty and it was to one of these Sir Eric clung to steady himself.

'I think a breath of fresh, sea air is just what's needed,' he said thickly.

'Yes,' his wife readily agreed, tightening her grip on her husbands arm as he wobbled. 'Shall we?'

She gestured for Helen and Barry, who were standing in much the same pose, to lead the way which they did with one or two glances back. Liam half wondered if she'd be so keen to marry him into that family if this was how the man of the house behaved. Helen never did like a man who couldn't hold his liqour.

'Come on then, kid,' said a voice behind him and Liam half turned to see Paul take Michelle by the arm and escort her towards the door with a sly wink over his shoulder for the benefit of Liam who suddenly found himself alone with the very same young lady he'd been dreading to meet. She had risen from the table and was watching him with a benign smile which lit up her whole face in delight when she was offered his arm.

'Why thankyou, sir,' she said in jest as she accepted. Her small arm curled around his and she laid her free hand on his wrist.

'Madam, the pleasure is entirely mine,' he replied in his best 'posh' voice and escorted her from the room with his nose in the air, eliciting that little laugh that made him smile.

* * *

><p>'So you are your folks are actually only sailing on <em>Titanic<em> because it's her maiden voyage?' Liam asked. He spoke with an air of incredulity.

'That's right,' Maria replied. Her tone carried a hint of defiance. 'It was a treat from my father, for my mothers birthday.'

There was a few seconds of silence while Liam surveyed Maria's youthful face. One corner of his upper lip was turned up. 'A boat ride?' he asked bluntly.

She laughed indignantly. 'Well it's a little more than that!' she cried, 'Don't you think?'

'I think you're all mad,' Liam replied in truth. He glanced further along the deck where his and Marias parents walked together and then a little further along where Paul and Michelle were chatting animatedly. Liam and Maria were not walking. He stood with his forearms leaning on the uppermost rung of the railing, facing out to sea. His head bowed as he watched the gentle, white-tipped waves lapping against the great body of the ship. 'I mean ... what are you going to do when we get there?' he asked. 'Turn around and come home again?'

'Not right away,' she said. She was also leaning on the barrier, watching the sun setting on the horizon. 'We have some accomodations in New York where we'll be staying a while.'

Liam sniffed. 'Sounds like one huge waste of money to me.'

'Well believe it or not,' Maria laughed, 'money is one thing my parents can afford to waste.'

'Oh I do believe,' Liam said. 'Just like mine. Just like every other person of first class.'

She raised an eyebrow, 'Our class you mean?'

Liam pushed himself from the railings and half turned so it was his back which was dependant on them. He puffed a breath from his cheeks. 'I don't know,' he said, overcome with a sudden frustration at his own situation. He ran a hand through his hair as seemed to be habit when he felt stressed, ruffling it up at the back as usual. 'Don't you ever feel out of place amongst it all?'

A tiny crease appeared in Maria's forehead as she tilted her head to one side. She studied him a moment.

'I'm not quite sure I know what you mean,' she said by way of reply.

He puffed another breath of air and searched her face, for what he was not sure.

'I mean,' he began slowly, 'do you sometimes feel as though you don't fit in?'

She gave that tinkering little laugh and flashed him a look overflowing with skepticism.

'No,' she said in a tone which suggested that quite frankly, he must be mad for entertaining the thought. 'Infact I thank the Lord everyday that I was born into the family I was and not one of theirs.'

Somewhere between the conversation, they had resumed their slow pacing of the deck and had reached the end of the promenade which overlooked the second and third class outdoor areas. It was to here that Maria gestured.

Peering over the edge, it suddenly struck Liam how apt it was that the wealthiest passengers onboard could stand here and look down on those in lower class. How humiliating it must feel for them, he thought.

'I mean ... look at their clothes!' Maria went on, 'I bet not one of them has even _seen_ a maid or a valet! Imagine sailing on a magnificent ship like this without bringing one!' She allowed her eyes to close momentarily as though inwardly shuddering at the thought.

'I didn't,' Liam stated casually.

Her eyes opened and turned instantly on him, scrutinizing him as though searching for any sign he may be jesting.

When she eventually spoke her voice was soft and a little timid though her tone accusatory. 'Why not?'

He thought about it a moment. 'I prefer to do things myself,' he answered honestly.

She was still watching him cautiously when the sound of footsteps echoed in the air and the other members of the party rounded the corner.

'Ah, here you are!' Dorothy cried upon seeing them. She freed herself from her husbands grasp and moved to her daughters side. 'Getting along well?' she asked.

Maria looked at Liam who looked at Paul who smiled slyly. Next to him, Michelle, obviously having been filled in, smirked.

He simply nodded his head and turned back to the railing.

'How about a nightcap?' boomed the voice of Sir Eric. He grinned around at his companions, seemingly oblivious to any goings on. The skin of his neck had folded back on itself to give the effect of a double chin.

'Don't you think you've had enough, dear?' Lady Dorothy asked in a timid voice.

'Nonsense, woman!' he roared. Though his voice was hard, his nature was good.

'What is _she_ looking at?' Helen said suddenly. Liam kept his face away and let out a little sigh, not in the mood to listen to a 'we're better than you are' argument between two immeasurably rich families but Helen was not watching anyone on the first class deck. Her gaze was, infact, directed far below.

'Riff raff,' she muttered and made a shoo-ing motion with her hands as though trying to rid herself a scavenging dog.

Liam, curiosity aroused, stole a glance back and followed his mothers eyeline all the way down to steerage where a young lady stood, eyebrows raised as she watched Helen and the rest look down their noses at her.

Liam was suddenly thankful for the railing which he gripped to hold him up as his legs seemed to have inexplicably turned to jelly. He was quite sure if it was to give way he would simply collapse in a heap right there on the deck.

Carla.

Her long, black hair billowed behind her, caught in the draught which the giant ships movement was creating, exposing her long, slender neck and sloping shoulders. As he watched, her body quivered in the cold and she wrapped her arms around herself as she endeavoured to keep warm though the gesture may also have been construed as one of defiance given the way she stared so boldly up to the top deck where she herself was strictly forbidden to step. Liam knew in an instant that had he been down there with her he would have given up his dinner jacket in a heartbeat to prevent her taking cold. As it happened, he wouldn't have needed to. The dark-haired gentleman whom Liam had spotted in her company as they left Southampton appeared by her side, clad in a tatty pair of braces over a white shirt. His own jacket dangled from a fingertip and he smiled warmly at her as, with her permission, he wrapped it around her slender shoulders. It was ill-fitting but would serve to keep out the cold until she retired to the warmth of indoors.

Liam watched her lips dance as they formed words directed towards the strangers ear and remembered, with fervor, the sultry and alluring tone of her voice. The stranger listened to what she had to say then turned his face skyward, giving Liam a decent enough view of his features. He was a tall man, perhaps the same height as Liam though with more muscle to the arms and chest. His face was handsome, crowned with a full head of jet black hair and his skin, the tone of olives. His lips began to form words that Liam could not hear but he was no longer paying any attention to the stranger, his eyes were back to concentrating on Carla. A look of disdain graced her strikingly beautiful face as she watched Helen glower at her.

_'I don't happen to believe in the class divide'_

Her own words spoken only a few short hours before. How this situation must irritate her, Liam thought. To be looked down upon by people dressed in such finery with rich jewels dripping from their necks and ears and pearl ornaments decorating their invaluable clothes while she stood there in a simple dress of pale red with a mis-matched, bedraggled jacket enveloping her shoulders and all because life had not been so kind to her as to them.

The young womans fastidious stare shifted abruptly. Her eyes flickered from Helen's, over Paul's and Maria's and landed unswervingly on Liam's who felt as though his heart may just leap from his chest as it pummeled unrelentingly, almost painfully, against his ribs. Colour rose under his eyes as they maintained contact with hers. He felt as though he could have stayed in that moment forever, locked in a catacomb of desire with only her beautiful eyes to distract him from the outside world. But then she looked away and the spell was broken. Her gaze flitted back to Helen who was backing away slowly looking utterly affronted.

'The audacity of them!' she cried. 'How dare they stare so brazenly at their superiors! If I were one of them I should bow my head and beg pardon for looking!'

Lady Dorothy 'humphed' in agreement and backed away like Helen. 'Shall we retire to the warmth of the lounge?' she asked. 'The temperature drops further now the sun has set.'

'Is there a bar in the lounge?' Sir Eric asked of his companions though nobody took notice of him.

Liam had yet to tear his eyes away from the girl named Carla who already, after only one meeting, seemed to have a peculiar hold over him. If Liam were less sound of mind he may suspect witchcraft afoot though she did not fit in with any picture he had ever seen of a sorceress.

She had long wrenched her gaze from his and had sought conversation with her male companion for whom Liam felt an inexplicable tinge of antipathy. He had placed his hand on her waist and was guiding her inwards towards a section of the deck hidden from Liam's eyes. She seemed at ease with him leading her away though not so amenable to the hand on her side which she removed with a complaisant smile. He took her hand in his instead and proceeded to guide her away from the prying eyes of those above though she obviously felt compelled to steal one last glance back before disappearing, which she did. She allowed Liam a smile and, unless he was very much mistaken, a slight flick of the head and warm, inviting eyes. And then she was gone.

'Did that girl just summon you down to steerage?' Paul asked incredulously.

Not mistaken then. His heart soared.

Maria gave a very unlady like snort of laughter. 'She obviously doesn't know her place!' she said in a tone which reminded Liam forcefully of his opinionated mother. 'Can you believe that?' she reached up and brushed away a strand of hair that had blown into Liam's face and he was forced to steel himself to not jerk out of her reach.

Barry, who had watched the whole episode unfold in silence, stepped away from the barrier and took his wifes arm. 'Table for eight I believe,' he said with a smile of mirth as he and Helen set off down the Promenade deck towards the staircase which would take them down one level to A-deck and the first class lounge.

'Actually,' Liam began, addressing them all at once. 'I think I'll turn in early if nobody has any objections.'

The smile slid from Maria's face and a tiny crease appeared in her forehead, 'Are you feeling sick?' she asked.

'I've had a headache coming on all night.'

Maria was looking as though about to raise her hand to his forehead. He took a subtle step back.

'Well in that case you must go to bed,' Helen said, 'and ward off the worst of it. Would you like me to bring you a cup of tea?'

'Shall I escort you back to the room?' Maria asked. She was already holding onto his arm.

Liam declined both offers. 'That shan't be necessary.' He detatched his arm from Maria's and took her hand instead, raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. 'Goodnight,' he said.

'Goodnight,' she answered in reply, her smile firmly back in place.

'It has been a pleasure.'

A sweet pink rose to Maria's cheeks as she blushed though Liam thought it best to pretend he had not noticed.

He departed with a swift kiss on the cheeks of his mother and sister and polite nods to the others and promptly took off towards to the entrance hall of the grand staircase acknowledging the steward at the door with another nod as he swept past. He flitted down the stairs to A-deck where he doubled back on himself at the bottom like he would if taking the door to the suites where his family thought he was headed now though, instead, taking a sharp left just before reaching it and descending the second set of stairs to B-deck then down to C and finally stopping at D. _Where to go now? _he thought. _Would she still be outside? _

He made his way through the first class reception on D-deck, through which he and his family had entered the ship back in Southampton, and pushed open a door which lead to more first class cabins similiar to those which he passed earlier on before finding the third class lounge. This time he didn't pause to examine his surroundings, he strode straight to the opposite end of the short corridor and wrenched open the door, only to find himself face to face with a White Star Line steward.

'Good evening, sir,' the steward said looking a little taken aback by Liam's abrupt entrance.

'Good evening,' Liam replied politely. He swept by before a conversation could be started but turned back after only a few steps. 'I wonder if you could tell me where I can find the third class outdoor area?' he asked.

'Straight ahead, sir. Through that door on the left and then to the right.'

'Thankyou,' Liam said, heading for the door which the man had indicated.

'Though a fine passenger like yourself shouldn't really be on that part of the ship,' the steward shouted after him.

Liam turned back. 'Why's that?' he asked

'Passengers are supposed to keep to their own class,' the man said, 'but I don't care much for rules. If you want to explore go right ahead. It's if they start coming the other way we've got trouble.' He chuckled at his own joke and watched as Liam afforded him a quick, forced smile before disappearing out the door.

He didnt care much for rules either.

The air was icy and the sky dark, the last of the sunlight having filtered away for another night leaving the sharp, crisp light of the moon in its wake.

He turned to the right, as the steward had said, and walked on until he was standing on the platform he had been looking down on some minutes ago. Neither the girl, nor her male companion were anywhere in sight. There was but half a dozen people bearing the cold still and further scrutiny proved all of them to be absolute strangers. Many of them shot withering glances in Liam's direction, plainly wondering as to his business in their quarters but not one of them approached.

He puffed air from his cheeks feeling an odd feeling of deflation. Where else should he search? The ship had over two thousand people on board, what were the chances of finding one amongst them? The phrase 'needle in a haystack' sprang to Liam's mind. But then again, he had now seen the same girl four times in but two days. Perhaps their paths were destined to cross which, if the case, would surely lead to another meeting somewhere along the way.

He turned to leave, making a conscious effort to dispell the disappointment creeping its way into his heart, when:

'Leaving already?'

Liam started at the voice. His heart was suddenly once again in danger of leaping from his chest. The girl called Carla was tucked away in a corner, visible possibly only to those who knew she was there. She sat on the wooden floor under an overhang of upper deck, partially obscured by one of the ships many reels. She hugged her knees with one hand and clung to the other mans jacket, which was still wrapped around her shoulders, with the other though he was nowhere to be seen. Her face was bright with a companionable smile.

'Not a chance.' He went and sat next to her, stretching his legs out infront of him.

'I didn't know whether or not you'd come,' she confessed.

'I got away as soon as I could,' he told her, 'and this boat is like a bloody maze, I didn't even know if I was coming the right way or not.'

She gave a laugh and allowed her head to roll back against the body of the deck, twisting her neck so she was facing him. 'I'm sorry if I caused you any bother,' she said after a moment.

'You didn't.'

'I saw that other man laughing at me when I ... erm ... 'invited' you down.'

'That was my brother, Paul.'

'Hmm, I assumed as much.' she said. 'You look similiar.'

'Don't mind him,' Liam told her, 'he's a bit of a pillock. Too much like our mother for his own good.'

'She's the one who was staring at me?' Carla asked. 'With the fancy frock and the curly hair?'

'That's her,'

She rolled her head back around so she was facing forwards again and pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders. 'She looked at me like I was something she'd found stuck to the bottom of her shoe,' she said quietly.

Liam looked at her. Her eyes, which he remembered were spirited and brimming with life, now seemed empty. By contrast, they were glassy and doleful.

'I don't know what made me do it, you know,' she went on.

'Do what?'

'Ask you down here.' She sniffed, risking a quick glance at him before turning her head back. 'I suppose it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.' She stared down at the hand holding the other mans jacket together. Her fingers played with the button holes. 'You see ... and this may be a rash confession for a girl like me ... I haven't been able to get you out of my head all day.' She gave a sad smile and risked another glance. Liam stayed silent. 'How silly is that?' she went on. 'It's not as if anything could ever happen between us. You're a gentleman, probably the son of some Lord or something and I'm ... well I'm just me.' She closed her eyes and gave another sniff, let her head drop back against the wall. Her eyes remained closed as she spoke again. 'I thought I wouldn't get to see you again and then suddenly, there you were, up there, watching me.' She gestured to the boat deck far above 'And I couldn't let the opportunity pass by. I thought if you didn't come then at least I would know my place.'

A long silence followed her declaration. Liam mulled over her words and watched while she picked at a loose thread on the hem of the jacket.

'That's going to come apart if you carry on doing that,' he said eventually, nodding to her fingers.

She smiled but did not desist. Another silence followed which Liam broke after a while.

'I'm not the son of a Lord,' he said. She stopped picking at the hem and looked up at him. 'Just of an average run-of-the-mill bloke who happened to be born into a wealthy family with a huge estate which he inherited when his father died.' He stopped talking and allowed his head to roll to the side so he could see her properly. 'My mothers a snob,' he went on, 'and she looks at everyone like that so don't let it bother you and just for the record ...' he had leant fowards a little and taken the liberty of placing his hand on her arm. 'If you hadn't have summoned me down here I'd have found an excuse to come anyway.' He stared deep into her eyes, once again transfixed by their beauty. 'You're not the only one who's thought of nothing else all day,' he added quietly.

She gazed from one of his eyes to the other and back again then down to his lips. She swallowed.

'Who was the other woman up there?' she asked quietly. 'The young, pretty one,'

'Ah,' Liam said. He tore his eyes away and slumped back against the wall behind them. 'That was Lady Maria Sutherland,' he looked back at Carla who was watching him with rapt attention. 'My intended.'

The words rang like a bell through the night sky, clear and unavoidable. They cut into Carla just as surely as any knife.

'Oh,' she said then she too slumped back, her shoulders sagged. 'You're getting married.' It was a statement, not a question.

'I'm not supposed to know it yet though,' Liam said with a grin.

Carla raised an eyebrow, 'How do you mean?'

'Our parents have us betrothed and yet, haven't mentioned it to either of us. I found out from my brother. Maria knows nothing of it.'

'Can they do that?' Carla asked with a quiet laugh.

'Oh yes,' Liam said. 'Very few marriages around our parts are made for love. Most are born from a desire to maintain interests and connections and to produce worthy heirs.'

Carla stared. 'You don't strike me as a man likely to be influenced by motives so commonplace in your choice of wife,' she said coolly.

It was Liam's turn to stare. Could he detect a hint of anger in the young ladies voice? 'It's hardly my choice of wife,' he said. 'There is no choice,' his head rolled back again. 'That's the point.'

As Carla watched, she felt her sudden burst of antagonism on his behalf dissipate. After all, who was she to judge or blame him or others like him for acting in conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them from childhood. All their class held these principles, no matter how unfathomable it was to Carla.

'Will you marry her then?' she asked after a while.

'Id rather not,' Liam said, 'But I may have to if the idea is pushed.'

Another long silence followed the words. Liam found his mind wandering three floors above where his family were. Had they retired from the lounge yet or had Sir Eric coerced them into a second drink? Had Paul found their shared suite empty? Would he raise the alarm if he did? What if someone came looking for him?

'Shall we go indoors?' Liam asked with a sudden urgency. He was already on his feet offering Carla his hand by the time she looked up. He stole a quick glance up to the top deck, half expecting a voice to call down to him but the coast seemed to be clear.

'Why the sudden hurry?' she asked, accepting his help and rising gracefully to her feet.

'I told my family I was going to bed early,' he told her, now looking around at the handful of people still bearing the cold. 'If my brother finds the room empty he may come looking.'

She seemed to need no further explanation as she took his hand and pulled him towards a set of stairs he had been oblivious too as he walked past on the way down. Together, they descended down to E-deck where the Promenade was sheltered by the deck above and, hand in hand, hurried towards a door on the far left labelled 'Scotland Road'.

'Named after a street in Liverpool apparently,' Carla told him as she watched him read the name on the plaque.

It was really just a long passageway which housed crew members, stewards and waiters when they were not on shift. It was basic, not like any of the accomodations Liam had seen upstairs. The walls were a plain white with iron bolts running the length of it, an austere wooden door standing every ten feet or so, each inscribed with the letter E followed by a number.

'This way,' Carla said, turning to the left. She was holding Liam's fingers as she walked and Liam, who had never been this far below deck before, was suddenly struck by how out of place he looked in his crisp dinner suit. If they were to meet an employee on the way to wherever they were headed they would surely be stopped and questioned. After all, as the steward had said earlier, classes were supposed to keep to their own area and it would be clear as day to anyone that Liam did not belong in these parts. He quickened his step, feeling the rush of adrenaline as it pumped through his system, and urged Carla to do the same which she did with a mischeivous laugh.

'Ooo this feels very naughty of us,' she giggled. She had discarded the old, bedraggled jacket from her shoulders and was allowing it to hang loosely from her arm.

'It does,' Liam agreed. 'Let's hope we don't get caught.'

'where's the fun in that?' she pouted.

Liam gave a gruff laugh by way of reply and urged her to move faster. 'If I'm found down here...' he allowed his words to trail off, leaving her to guess the rest and she parted her lips as if about to reply when, behind them, a door suddenly flew open with a bang and they both froze where they stood, watching as a tall gentleman clad in black out-seamed trousers, a white shirt and pique waistcoat emerged. With a jolt, Liam recognised him as a waiter who had served him breakfast in the first class saloon only that morning. He was fiddling with his cuffs and seemed oblivious to their presence and for a split-second, Liam wondered if it might be possible to back away and escape unseen, a thought Carla had obviously entertained too as she had already taken several steps back but then the man looked up, straight into Liam's eyes. He seemed to take his time surveying the situation, contemplating Carla in her faded red dress first then moving onto Liam. His brow puckered.

'Sir?' he said with a step forwards.

Carla tightened her grip on Liam's hand. She was on her tip-toes as though ready to flee.

'You're not supposed to be down here, sir.'

'I was just having a look around,' Liam said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded.

The mans gaze fell to his and Carla's interlocked fingers and his stare turned accusatory. 'Sir,' His voice hardened and he took another step towards them, arm raised as though to escort Liam away, 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you come with me.'

'Run!' Carla's voice rang out like a bell and she tugged sharply on Liam's hand.

He didn't need telling twice, scarpering after her towards the end of the corridor while the waiters cries echoed from behind. The took a right turn, through a door and along another passageway, once to the right and down another flight of stairs without turning back to check if they were being pursued.

They were in a corridor, not unlike the one above though much shorter in length. Carla pulled Liam towards a door labelled F-59 and to Liam's disbelief, flashed him a grin and pulled a key from her cleavage. She unlocked the door then slammed it shut behind them, pulling Liam down onto a bed where they collapsed, gasping for breath and sweating profusely.

'Well that broke the monotony of the day,' Carla said when she'd caught her breath. She laughed a wicked laugh, which had the hairs on the back of Liam's neck standing on end, and pushed herself up so she was hovering over Liam who was still flat out. Liam could see her rosy cheeks glowing in the dim light of the room. She looked exhilarated.

'Do you always ... keep your keys there?' he asked, still trying to regain control of his breathing.

She flashed him that enticing grin again and threw the old jacket, which she was still clinging to, onto a bed to the right.

'Well they don't accomodate for things like that when making these dresses so us women have to be resourceful.' She slid off the bed and moved to the door. 'You should see where I keep my purse.' She pressed her ear to it and listened a moment.

Liam gave a snort of laughter and raised himself to his elbows, gaining his first proper look at the third class cabin. It was fitted out in the manner of traditional steerage accomodations, a world away from what Liam was used to. There were two sets of iron bunks and three hard-backed wall seats fitted into a space barely big enough for four people to live. The walls were bare and the floors wooden, not polished like upstairs but plain and austere and there was no sign of a bathroom or any wash facilities. The space lacked a window or porthole, the only source of light a single bulb dangling from the ceiling under a simple, cream shade.

'I don't think he followed us,' Carla said. She moved away from the door and dropped onto the bed next to Liam.

'Who else stays here?' he asked. He was eyeing two cases which were propped up against the wall. 'Isn't there four people?'

'No,' she said. 'Just Tony and I.'

'Tony?'

'Gordon. He's the one who was on the deck with me before.' She gestured to the discarded garment lying on the other bunk. 'He gave me his jacket.'

'Are you travelling with him?' Liam asked.

'No. We only met yesterday but he's already told me he wants to stay with me when we dock in New York.'

Liam sat himself up properly, having to stoop somewhat to avoid his head colliding with the bed above. 'What did you say to that?' He placed his hand next to hers, not quite summoning the courage to take it.

'I told him I don't know. He said he'd give me time to think about it.'

Liam seemed to brood over the predicament for a second then lowered his eyes, nodding his head painstakingly. He cleared his throat and turned towards the door as a sudden thought hit him.

'How am I going to get out of here?' he asked. A question which also conveniently served as an adequate change of subject. 'I can't risk anyone else seeing me now, I'm going to have enough explaining to do already if that waiter mentions anything of this to my family.'

'He won't,' Carla reassured him. 'He won't want to risk losing his job.'

'Well then the stewards. He'll have alerted them for sure! They'll be on the lookout for me and even if I did risk going back, however would I find my way?' Liam got to his feet and took to pacing up and down. 'We took so many twists and turns on the way I'll end up lost for sure!'

Carla watched as he traipsed the length of the room and back, his mounting agitation apparent. Was he starting to regret sneaking below decks to find her? she wondered. If he had the choice again would he stay above deck, turn his back and disappear with his future wife, forgetting about her totally?

Liam, wondering as to her conspicuous silence, glanced to the side as he paced and beheld her melancholy demeanor as she bowed her magnificent head and stared at her faded, dishevelled shoes, seemingly lost in thought. His dismay over his own situation seemed to forsake him in an instant and he felt himself almost overcome with desire to kneel before her and tilt her chin. Hold her hands in his and work the shining smile back onto her face where he feared his petty trials had been the cause of its abandonment but instead, he dropped onto the rough, straw-filled mattress beside her and allowed a sigh to escape his lips. He stole himself to reach for her dainty little hand. She gave it up readily and raised her head.

'I'm sorry if I've caused you trouble,' she said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

'You've already apologised for that,' Liam told her, 'and my response is still the same now as it was before: you haven't.' There was a pause in which her expression changed to one of skepticism. 'At least, no trouble I wouldn't want on my shoulders anyway,' he relented.

She smiled a little and he couldn't help but do the same.

He toyed with her fingers, admiring their delicacy and relishing the feel of them in his.

'I know a place you can stay tonight where you won't be caught,' Carla said after a while.

'Where?' Liam asked.

She gestured around the room with her free hand. 'Here,' she said simply.

Liam's smile widened. 'It's a kind offer,' he said, 'But my brother won't let it drop if I'm absent all night. At least if I go back now I can tell him I went for a walk to clear my head or to get a drink or something.'

She nodded her head and flicked a lock of hair back from her face as she turned it to look at him. 'Not yet though,' she half-whispered. Her lips were the most delicious shade of pink under the dim light of the windowless cabin. 'Stay a while?'

'Won't your roommate mind?' Liam asked.

'Tony?' she snorted. 'He's probably in the lounge, drinking with the other boys. By the time he finds his way down here he'll be too drunk to notice.'

'Then I'll stay a while,' Liam said with a laugh.

She smiled appreciatively and allowed her body to sink gently into his side. Completely inexperienced with this kind of thing, Liam followed his instinct and awkwardly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, marvelling at how perfectly she fitted beneath it. He pulled her closer and pushed them both to the back of the bed so they were leaning up against the wall, his legs stretched out while she curled hers in. He hesitantly placed a hand over her knee and relaxed when she didn't object or pull away. He breathed in a scent so wonderful, so evocative, so unlike anything he'd ever smelt before it rendered him temporarily speechless but she seemed content to sit in silence and so he enjoyed this wonderful, new experience with no preoccupation.

'Liam?' she whispered after a while. Her voice was sleepy.

'Mmm?'

'Stay tonight?' she asked again.

As he relaxed into her warm body, resting his chin wearily on the crown of her head, he became conscious of his sudden lack of apprehension regarding the predicament he may find himself in when the sun rose. He planted a soft kiss on her head.

'You didn't have to ask.'

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><p><strong>Congratulations if you made it to the end and Thankyou very much for reading. Reviews are all very much appreciated :)<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Thankyou to the lovely people who reviewed the previous chapter. This one is more of a kind of filler, nothing too exciting but I hope you enjoy anyway.**

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><p><strong>April 12th 1912 <strong>

A peculiar sensation washed over Liam as he roused himself from sleep the following morning. It was an odd feeling that he could not shake as he lay on the rough hewn mattress ... as though he was being watched. He opened his eyes, tired from sleep, and searched the cabin, which didn't look any brighter in the day than it had at night, finding the offending pair of eyes on the bottom of the other bunk. They belonged to the man called Tony Gordon and were boring into Liam with something remarkably akin to jealousy. The stranger offered no welcoming smile, no polite words of greeting ... just stared with eyes as black as pitch and no warmth to counter the frostiness of the gaze.

Liam became aware of the warm body in his arms and lowered his eyes to the woman sleeping soundly beside him. Her hair was tousled and her face slack though, in her unconscious state she still managed to ignite a heat deep within him. He was almost overcome with a desire to lean down and kiss her cheek, her temple, her forehead but resisted under the impenetrable gaze of the other man, settling instead, for a broad smile.

'I took the liberty,' the man called Tony said, 'of covering her with a blanket.' He stared at Liam with those icy eyes. 'She looked cold.'

'Right,' Liam said, nodding his head as best he could in his awkward horizontal position. 'Thankyou,' he added after a moment.

The other man did not acknowledge the thanks, choosing instead, to stare at the sleeping woman though Liam got the sense that he wasn't done talking. He had the look of a man who was choosing his words very carefully and sure enough, when he spoke again his words were slow and pronunciated.

'You and Carla,' he said, eyes still on her. 'What exactly is there between you two?' They flickered to Liam's face then dropped back to Carla's.

'Erm ...well...' Liam began hesitantly, not really sure how to respond. This, after all, was the man who had apparently asked her to disembark with him when they reached New York.

'She didn't tell you she belongs to another?' Tony went on. His accent was typically Northern, his tone sneering. Liam's hackles were instantly raised.

'And who would that be?' he asked. He tried to harden his voice to match the other mans.

'Me.'

'She didn't mention that, no.'

Tony's eyes flashed dangerously and when he spoke, the words came out a growl. 'I'm warning you,' he said menacingly, 'just keep away from her.'

'It's a little difficult to do that when she's sleeping so soundly in my arms.' As if to emphasise his point, Liam placed his hand on Carla's waist, caressing it gently and pulled her closer to him, all the while, his eyes never leaving the others.

Tony leapt to his feet with such deftness it rather took Liam aback. He reached for his jacket from the foot of his bed, the same one that Carla had carried the previous evening and with a deathly glare, wrenched the door open. It slammed behind him with a vibration that echoed around the whole cabin and probably next doors too. Liam relaxed his tense shoulders as he sank back into the mattress and allowed himself a congratulatory smile.

'You shouldn't wind him up you know,' came a little voice from out of nowhere.

Liam started and stared down at Carla's face. Her eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, muscles relaxed. She feigned sleep perfectly.

'How long have you been awake?' he asked. His tone was chastising but she could hear the smile in his words.

'A while,' was her reply. She blinked twice and twisted around to face him, surveying him with bleary eyes.

'Did you sleep well?' he asked.

'Better than I have in a long while,' she replied, voice thick with torpor, as her fingers deftly rubbed the sleep away. 'What are smiling at?' she added for the corners of his lips had quirked upwards as he watched her.

His brow creased as his smile widened. 'I was just thinking how adorable you look with your hair all messed up.'

A colour that reminded Liam of his mothers pink roses back home sprang to Carla's cheeks as she ran her hands through her knotted hair and flattened it at the top. She quailed under his watchful gaze and, with a shy smile, curled herself tightly into the crook of his arm as though abashed at being examined so closely and he, in turn, brought his free arm across his body to hold her closer.

'How long before you have to go?' she asked after a few moment of companionable silence.

'I really should be back by eight to have a quick wash and meet my parents for half-past and as it's quarter too just now, I should probably get going.'

'You might want to change your clothes,' Carla said with a laugh so captivating it had Liam wishing he could lie there with this girl in his arms forever. She eyed his crinkled suit and ran her hand along the sleeve of his shirt, leaving a burning imprint wherever she touched. 'Will whats-her-name be there?' she asked.

Though he couldn't see her face, curled up as she was, Liam could feel her frown into his arm and, he could be mistaken, but had that been a hint of bitterness to her tone? She toyed delicately with his cufflinks.

'Maria?' he said with a sigh. 'Probably.'

There was a few moments of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engines below. It was hard to believe, comfortable as they were, that at that moment they were advancing through the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean at a rate of 20 knots. Technology really had come a long way.

'You'd better get going then. You shouldn't keep her waiting.' There was no mistaking her tone this time.

She untangled herself from his arms and rolled over, pushed herself to her feet and set about smoothing her dress out having been lying in it all night.

Liam sat himself up, taking care not to hit his head on the top bunk.

'When can I see you again?' he asked as he got to his feet. He followed her lead by running his hands over the creases in his clothes.

'That's up to you,' she said. 'You can sneak down here whenever you want, I can't get upstairs.'

'What about your possessive roomate? You know, the one who thinks, and I quote, 'You belong to him'?'

Her face darkened. 'I can't believe he said that,' she mused as she ran a dated, wooden brush through her long, black hair and secured it in a low ponytail. 'If I hadn't been feigning sleep I'd have given him what for and a lot more besides.' She pulled her trunk away from the wall and forcibly flipped open the clasps. 'As if I belong to anybody,' she muttered, throwing back the lid to reveal a meagre collection of worn and, in some cases, tattered clothing.

'It's not much, I know,' she said as she caught Liam looking. Colour was flooding her cheeks again. 'I buy the best I can afford but it's still pretty poor.'

Sensing her discomfort, Liam retook his seat on the bed next to her and reached for her hand. 'I think you'd look beautiful in anything,' he said.

A small smile clung to her lips as she raised her eyes to meet his.

'Though can I recommend this?' He leaned over and selected a gown from the top of the small pile. It was the colour of deep, midnight blue which was a rarity amongst the pastels of more common outfits. It boasted a corset top with a daringly low neck line and puffed out cropped sleeves. The hem, embellished with an aerial lace, would sweep the floor elegantly when donned by a woman of Carla's height.

'It's a bit daring, is it not?' she asked as she ran her fingers along the satin of the skirt.

Liam only smiled in response, his eyes crinkled endearingly and she laughed a little nervously as she took the gown from him.

'I'll think about it,' she promised. 'But you had better get going before you end up in trouble.' Her gaze had turned to one of chastisement and she swatted the side of his thigh playfully with the back of her hand.

'I think it's a bit late for that,' Liam said with a snort of laughter. He caught her hand and squeezed it affectionately. 'I'll come and find you as soon as I can get away,' he declared assuredly.

'I'll be waiting,' she whispered, her voice the tone of amour.

Liam debated a moment whether to kiss her hand or perhaps her cheek in farewell. He stole a quick glance at her full, pink lips, wondering how she would react ... but in the end, chose to part with no more than a smile despite what every cell in his body was screaming out for him to do. He disentangled his fingers from hers, pushed himself to his feet and forced them to carry him to the door but as he reached for the handle, the poignant desire he felt for the woman he was forced to leave behind rose within him to a point of overwhelming ardor and any sense of resistance he may have had left slipped from his fingers. He turned, almost unconsciously, and watched her oval eyes widen as he crossed the room to where she sat and, in a moment of boldness, or perhaps it was madness, pulled her to her feet and into a lingering kiss.

His fingers instinctively reached under her hair and around her body to rest on the back of her head and her lower back and as her own hands wrapped themselves around his neck, Liam felt a new kind of heat flood through him. He relished the feel of her satin lips on his and promptly missed their warmth as he was forced to break away for air. His forehead leant against hers as he took a moment to catch his breath and thought how thankful he was that she was there to hold him up as he was quite sure if she relinquished her hold he would collapse, in a heap, to the floor.

There were no words left to exchange, nothing appropriate to say in the moment so Liam simply stole a second kiss from her cheek before swiftly exiting the room, leaving Carla standing alone, tracing the outline of her lips in wonderment.

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><p>Slipping back through steerage was surprisingly easy. The long passage called Scotland Road was a hive of activity with many crew members and stewards readying themselves for another long shift but Liam just kept his head down and walked by, ignoring the odd inquisitive glance thrown his way. He managed to only take one wrong turning en route to A-deck, almost ending up in the third class dining saloon, but he made it back unscathed and in good time. The most awkward part had been after entering the first class area where he looked so ridiculously out of place in his crinkled suit. He had employed the same attitude by keeping his head down as he walked and praying relentlessly he wouldn't bump into someone who recognised him.<p>

But, the inevitable confrontation came in the form of Paul who was sitting on his bed looking as agitated as Liam had ever seen when he pushed the cabin door open and stepped inside. Paul's shoulders sagged when he saw his brother and he rose a little shakily to his feet.

'Where have you been?' he asked. His voice was surprisingly even though the anger was clear from his tone.

Liam realised then it might have been advisable to devise a cover story on his way back up through the decks but the thought hadn't crossed his mind, being too preoccupied with the memory of young Carla's lips pressed against his own.

'Oh ... erm ... I went for a walk,' he invented, clinging to the hope his brother had not noticed him missing since the previous evening.

'All night?' Paul fumed, brow furrowed. No such luck then.

It struck Liam suddenly how very much like Helen, Paul was. They shared a temperament, a view and an attitude. Even Paul's nostrils were flared as Helen's were when enraged.

'Does it matter where I was?' Liam said. 'I'm back now, no harm done.'

'No harm done?' Paul said. His eyes were wide, the skin surrounding them white. 'I've been sat up half the night imagining all sorts of things! I half convinced myself you'd taken a detour on the way back here last night and fallen overboard!' His voice had risen to a shout.

'You didn't alert anyone, did you?' Liam asked, a sudden nervousness holding him in its grasp.

'Luckily for you I didn't, no.'

He breathed a sigh of relief and went to collect his washbag from the dresser.

'Is that it?' Paul asked incredulously. 'Am I not even going to get an explanation?'

'You're not my mother!' Liam shot back at him. 'And in any case, I'm twenty-one incase you've forgotten, I'm at perfect liberty to go where I please!' He grabbed the White Star Line towel from the back of the chair and stomped towards the wash room.

'Were you with that girl from steerage?' Paul asked, bringing Liam up short. When he turned around, Paul was eyeing him sheepishly and a little uneasily as though abashed at having to ask. He looked as though he was struggling with himself.

'What girl?' Liam asked trying with all his might to stop the blood running to his head and turning his cheeks the colour of the sunset.

'The one we were watching last night.' When Liam said nothing he went on. 'Only I was thinking about it when I was sitting here last night wondering where you'd got to and it almost makes sense. We laughed at her inviting you down there but you disappeared pretty soon after and were missing all night. It hardly takes a genius to figure it out.'

'You're being ridiculous, Paul,' Liam said, trying for nonchalance though his heart was beating ten to the dozen.

'I don't think I am,' Paul said quietly. His gaze had settled on Liam's free hand which, he realised too late, was shaking like a leaf. He tucked the offending hand into his trouser pocket, turned his face away and said nothing which Paul seemed to take as an admission of guilt. He allowed his shoulders to slump as he surveyed his little brother, seeming suddenly very tired and weary. His anger dissipated.

'Oh Liam,' he said as he sank back down onto the bed. He covered his face with his hands and for a long moment, said nothing.

'Look,' Liam began, feeling he had to defend himself, 'I just went down there to talk to her, I didn't mean to stay the night, we just fell asleep.'

'But why did you have to go in the first place?' Paul asked. 'She was just a random girl on the deck ... oh ...' he laughed humourlessly and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. 'It wasn't the first time you've been down there.' The words were a statement, not a question.

'No,' Liam said deciding that in this case, honesty might be the best policy. 'When I left you in the cafe yesterday I was so angry I just wanted to put as much space between us as possible so I went below decks, ended up in the third class lounge, and it was there I met the girl.'

Paul was staring at a point over Liam's shoulder looking rather thoughtful. 'You were so happy when you came back last night,' he said, 'I couldn't figure out why when you'd been so angry before.'

Liam puffed air from his cheeks and replaced the washbag and towel on the dresser. He walked the few steps to Paul's bed and sank down next to him.

'I really like her, Paul,' he said. 'Infact,' he went on when there was no response to break the silence, 'I think I might have fallen for her.'

Paul's hand dropped to his lap and he stared at his little brother. 'You only met her yesterday!' he said incredulously.

'I know!' Liam laughed. 'How crazy is that?'

'Oh it's not crazy,' Paul said, 'It's utter madness! What on Earth would mum say if she found out? You'd break her heart, Liam!' he went on. 'She's so keen for you and Lady Maria to get along.'

'We do get along,' Liam said, 'I just don't feel anything for her. Not in that way anyway.'

'But perhaps you could grow to love her,' Paul persisted, 'You've only known her a day afterall.'

'I've only known Carla a day aswell and already I feel something so strong for her I think if we were to be seperated my heart might just split in two.'

'Is that her name?' Paul asked after a pause, 'Carla?'

Liam nodded his reply.

'Look, I can't pretend to be okay about this,' Paul said, staring his brother dead in the eye. 'But I suppose I can keep it quiet if that's what you want.'

'That's all I'm asking,' Liam said, slapping him affectionately on the back. He pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his washbag and towel from the dresser.

'What are you going to do when we dock?' Paul asked.

'I haven't figured that out yet,' Liam replied with a grin as he pushed the bathroom door closed behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Thankyou for reading. Any thoughts are hugely appreciated :)<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay so strictly speaking there was no dancing onboard the Titanic (despite what James Cameron and Julian Fellowes think) but hey, if their characters can do it ...**

Liam could see Paul watching him wearily all through breakfast and had to resist the urge, many times, to kick him under the table. His nerves were shot, half expecting his brother to drop the axe over the fresh herings and stewed prunes, despite his promise to keep quiet and Maria's incessant chatter from the next seat, where she had been convienently placed, didn't help in the least. Neither did the odd glances thrown his way from the waiter him and Carla had absconded from down on E-deck the previous evening.

The same man had just finished clearing the table when Barry leaned across it and cleared his throat, making himself known to them at the opposite side.

'Did you young ones know,' he began, looking at each of them in turn, 'that they are holding a dance tonight in the lounge? It all sounds a little too frivolous for our liking,' he said, gesturing to Helen and the Sutherland's, 'but it might be something to interest you three.'

'I had heard talk,' said Paul as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin and set it carefully back upon the table, 'but dancing is something I don't particularly enjoy so I think I'll opt out if there's no objections.' He glanced around the table and when no one offered an opinion on his words he sat back and raised his china teacup to his lips.

From the corner of his eye, Liam saw Maria throw her shoulders back and gaze at him expectantly but he determinedly kept his own eyes forward and proffered no invitation. After a while she sank back into her seat and dropped her gaze to the pristine tablecloth.

'Can I go?' Michelle piped up suddenly. Her body had become rigid in the chair as she sat up straight and her dark eyes sparkled as they lingered on her fathers.

'Absolutely not,' Helen told her. 'You're far too young for that kind of thing, Michelle.'

'But mum, I'm sixteen!' she cried indignantly.

'Exactly.'

'Dad?' she appealed to her father, turning her eyes on him.

'I'm afraid I'm in agreement with your mother, Michelle,' he said apologetically.

Michelle huffed and sank back in her chair, allowing her shoulders to slump but under her mothers distempered gaze, she soon sat straight, unwilling to face her wrath if embarassed infront of the Sutherlands.

'Liam,' Helen addressed her youngest son, turning her attention to him. 'Be a dear, would you?' she said, 'and run up to our suite, I believe I've misplaced my gloves and it's so frightfully cold outside.' She passed the room key across the table to Liam who took it from her gladly. He would welcome a few moments solitude what with it being in such short supply aboard the ship and yet him being so used to it back home. 'I think they're lying on the bed but if not there's more in the drawer of the dresser.'

Liam nodded once and got to his feet.

Maria reached over and caught his fingers. 'You'll meet us on deck, won't you?' she asked before he could enact his retreat.

'Of course,' he said with another gruff inclination of the head. He untangled his fingers and resisted the urge to scowl at his brother as he walked by in reply to the look of harsh disapproval etched on the older ones face.

* * *

><p>Their parents and sisters room was much the same as Paul and Liam's only on a grander scale having to accomodate three people rather than two. The room was panelled in wood - walnut Liam guessed though he couldn't be sure - inlaid with smaller panels, each embellished with a beautiful, rich, red velvet. The floor was carpeted in a light gold colour and against one wall stood a comfortable-looking double bed where the boys cabin had two singles. One single bed stood against the wall opposite with its own private dresser and other furniture comprising a dining table with four high-backed chairs, a second dressing table for the double bed, a couple of large wardrobes and an easy chair with an elongated base. There was a little window opposite the door of stateroom, slightly larger than Paul and Liam's, the only giveaway that they were travelling on a ship and not, infact, staying in an upmarket, luxury hotel. There was a short passageway leading from the corner of the room, just past Michelle's bed, to a second much smaller room where Louisa, the young chambermaid, slept. Liam supposed at that moment she would be down on B-deck, in the servants mess hall, preparing her own dinner while her charges were served theirs, two decks below.<p>

The ivory, elbow-length gloves were lying on the double bed where Helen had said they would be, left behind in a hurry to get down to the saloon in time and secure themselves their customary table by the grand windows. Liam crossed the room to retrieve them and, job done, retraced his steps to the door only to be brought up short when hit by a sudden idea. He pondered it a moment, wondering if it could possibly work and with a thrill of anticipation, turned to the large, intricate wardrobe which stood by the single bed and from which the door had swung open slightly, revealing a huge collection of beautiful gowns in an array of colours, all belonging to Michelle.

Feeling suddenly nervous, Liam stood absolutely still for a moment, listening intently for footsteps or any sign that somebody was approaching and, with a widening grin, stole across the room ...

* * *

><p>'So what are your plans for the evening then?' Liam asked of Paul later on that day as they dressed for dinner.<p>

'I might head up to the smoking room,' Paul said as he stood infront of the mirror, straightening his bowtie, 'and have a few games of cards. You're welcome to join me if you like,' he added.

'I'm going dancing,' said Liam with a grin.

'Dancing?' Paul snorted. 'You?' He stared at his little brothers reflection in the mirror and watched as he nodded his head emphatically. 'Ah, I see,' he said with a knowing smile. 'Maria twisted your arm, did she?'

'Something like that,' Liam laughed. He joined his brother by the mirror and examined his own reflection, running his hands down the sleeves of his dinner jacket and smoothing his rebellious hair.

'I'm glad your seeing sense,' Paul said. 'You had me worried for a while there.' He slapped Liam on the back and went to retrieve his own jacket from the wardrobe, leaving Liam smiling at his reflection uneasily.

It was after dinner while sneaking along the giant passage called Scotland Road that it struck him it might have been better to be totally honest with his brother rather than face his wrath if the truth was discovered. _Too late now _he sighed as he adjusted the holdall on his back and made his way deftly towards the stairs leading to F-deck.

He rapped his knuckles hard against the steel door, hoping against hope that this was where Carla was hiding and that Tony Gordon was elsewhere. He had already checked the open area on D-deck and even popped his head into the third class lounge but the girl had so far proved to be quite elusive. The cabin was the last place Liam could think of to check and so he stood awkwardly at the door now, wondering what course of action he would take if there was no answer. It was a thought he needn't have entertained though as, within seconds, the door was flung open and there stood the very girl Liam had been longing to see. A smile, which mirrored his own, lit up her entire face as she saw him and, wordlessly, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

'I've been waiting all day to do that,' she said breathlessly. 'What took you so long?'

'Sorry,' he apologised as he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his forehead against hers. 'I couldn't get away until now.'

She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. 'Well you're here now, aren't you?' she said in a tone which could be described only as husky. 'And we've got all evening to do as we please,' she added as her lips curled up in a smile.

'Ah ... well ...' Liam began as he stepped into the cabin which, to his relief, was vacant of the Scottish man. 'I've an idea how we can pass the time.' He flashed her a mischievious grin, dropped the holdall to the floor and kicked the door closed behind him.

Half an hour later, Carla stood examining as much of her reflection as she could see in a small, round, hand-held mirror she had brought in her luggage given that the White Star Line's designers had not deemed it necessary for each and every cabin to have a proper one included.

* * *

><p>'I don't know, Liam,' she said, turning this way and that, trying to view every part of herself in the tiny glass mirror.<p>

'Well I do,' Liam replied with gusto. He was lying on his side on top of her bed, one hand propping up his head while his elbow rested on her pillow and he seemed to be incapable of averting his eyes. 'You look stunning,' he said.

She smiled shyly. 'You're sure your sister won't mind?'

'My sister won't know.'

'Liam!' she chided gently. 'I thought you said you told her about me!'

'Not her,' Liam corrected her, 'only Paul.'

For a moment, Carla stared at him. 'Then where did you get this?' she asked slowly, looking down at the beautiful ivory evening gown which Liam had produced proudly from the black holdall and of which she was now clad. An array of ornamental beads and rhinestones shimmered in the dim light of the cabin and Carla couldn't help but admire the incandescent glistening which emanated from the garment and seemed almost to twinkle as she moved. This dress alone must be worth the entire contents of her little suitcase and more besides!

'I ... erm ... I borrowed it,' Liam said slowly. 'Without her permission,' he added in answer to her raised eyebrow.

She let out a sigh. 'You could have told me that before we spent ages fiddling with the flamin' corset!'

Her fingers reached around behind her and groped for the lace that would release her from the confines of the bodice but in a flash Liam was by her side, catching her fingers before she could undo all his hard work. Lacing a corset was far more demanding and intricate a task than he would have imagined and he shuddered at the memory of how she had gasped or winced everytime he pulled tighter. The thought of performing the ritual again was not one he relished.

'Michelle will never know,' he reassured her. 'She's got so many of these, she'll never miss one.' He brushed the hair back from her neck and planted on it a soft kiss. He heard her sigh quietly as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access. 'Plus,' he went on, 'How could I ever take you out on a proper date if we're not allowed to leave steerage?'

'Ooh, is that where we're going?' She turned her head to meet his eyes, 'A proper date?'

'You're just going to have to wait to find out, aren't you? Now ...' he took a step back and surveyed her whole person. 'We just need to do something with your hair...'

Carla was giggling to herself as they walked hand in hand along Scotland Road. 'I can't believe we're doing this,' she murmured as Liam led her through the door which gave access to the third class promenade. To his relief, the long corridor had been empty but a half dozen people roamed the promenade, enjoying the last of the days sunshine and he felt Carla squeeze his fingers nervously as a few turned to stare. It didn't help of course that Michelle Connor's dress was a little on the large side or that her shoes, heeled ones at that, were ill-fitting and felt foreign on her feet.

'Just keep your head down,' he whispered and he took off down the promenade while she did her best to keep up in the heels.

Up the stairs to D-deck they went and into the first class reception where they met their first obstacle in the form of a White Star Line steward complete with tailored white jacket and a stance which bellowed authority.

'Evening, sir,' he said. 'Mi' lady,' he added with a courteous bow.

Carla, having no idea how she should be acting in this foreign world, opted to incline her head a little, smile politely and hope for the best. Her dark hair had been styled elegantly by her own hand, pinned back and revealing a long, slender neck on which the stewards eyes lingered a moment.

He cleared his throat. 'Out there's no place for passengers such as yourselves,' he said gruffly.

'We got a little lost,' Liam explained.

The steward eyed them with open suspicion. 'I trust you know where you are now?' he said.

'We do,' Liam replied. 'Good evening,' and with a polite nod of the head, he pulled Carla away.

'God, Liam,' she exclaimed when they were out of earshot. 'My heart's hammering!' He felt her hand, which was wrapped firmly in his own, shake with adrenaline and allowed a laugh as he gripped it tighter.

'The danger only makes it more fun though, does it not?' he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

'For you maybe,' she laughed. 'You'll only get a slap on the wrists but I'll end up arrested if I'm caught masquerading as a first class passenger!'

Her words were indignant but the smile which clung to her lips gave lie to her tone. She couldn't deny the thrill of the thing.

'Who's going to know?' Liam asked her as he pulled her through the reception, which was studded with tub armchairs and comfy looking settees, to the base of the grand staircase.

'Wow!' she exclaimed, all worries momentarily forgotten as she stared at the magnificent structure with its elegant sweeping curves and intricately carved pillars.

'You think it's fancy now,' Liam whispered in her ear, 'why don't you take a look up?'

Carla did as he asked and found she could not mask her amazement as she stared, open-mouthed, at the huge glass dome crowning the top of the staircase four floors above.

Although electric lights were burning on the landings and around the staircase itself, most of the illumination came from the natural light filtering in through the dome which was glowing like a fireball in the evening sun.

'It's beautiful,' she whispered in awe, regarding the whole structure with a solemn reverence.

'It's even more beautiful at night,' Liam told her, 'when you're out on the deck and the whole dome is glowing like a beacon.'

Carla stared up at it in wonder, imagining what it must look like from the outside.

'It's a bit hard to believe,' she said after a while, 'that we're still on the same ship given that the parts we've just come from are so basic and yet this is only a few floors up and ...' she allowed her words to trail off, looking suddenly morose. 'I wonder sometimes as to the class divide,' she said quietly. 'That you get to live in a world like this, purely for being born to the right people ... and for the company to go to the lengths of building two staircases at opposing ends of the ship just to keep us apart ...'

'Ah,' Liam said. 'They did that out of consideration for you, not us.'

'How do you mean?'

'Just incase the sight of someone from first class knocks a third class ticket holder sick.'

Carla allowed herself a laugh and, with a grin, Liam retook her hand and pulled her up the stairs to A-deck where she spent a moment examining the carving of the cherub which held a light in the shape of a flaming torch and thought to herself how ridiculously complex it seemed for the simple task it was intended to perform but then was that not true of everything she had so far seen in first class? Out through the enclosed promenade they went, past the reading room until stopping at a door marked 'first class lounge'.

Liam popped his head around the door before entering, just to ensure there was no member of either his or Maria's family inside and finding the coast clear, led Carla in, adopting a rather stoic walk in the presence of upper-class people and encouraging her to do the same.

The room was alive with a hundred people at least. Some were already dancing a slow waltz accompanied by a seven piece string band whos relaxing strains floated across the room and out to the surrounding deck. The tub armchairs and high-backed wooden chairs had been pushed away from the centre and now lined the perimeters of the room along with a number of coffee and writing tables creating a vast, empty space where couples could waltz and whirl as they pleased.

'Well?' Liam asked a little nervously. He was watching her face closely, trying to judge her expression which to his mind was unreadable. 'What do you think?'

'I think it's a good thing I like to dance otherwise you'd be feeling rather foolish about now.'

Her words were not as good at disguising her frame of mind as her expression and the delight was obvious in her voice though the smile on her lips remained coy. She was well aware that this was a world in which public displays of emotions or affections was considered deeply distasteful and so she quietly accepted Liam's proffered hand and allowed herself to be led to the centre of the dance floor and engaged in the music.

* * *

><p>The night was a memorable one, full of laughter, animation, easy banter and the occasional stolen kiss when they thought no one was looking. A whole horde of new faces had been commited to Carla's memory as she had been introduced to some of the most influencial people on board, each believing her to be one of their own and Liam had stood proudly by and watched as she had danced with the likes of German millionaire Isidor Straus, American businessman Benjamin Guggenheim, notable Scottish landowner Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon and White Star Line's managing director Joseph Bruce Ismay, whilst thinking to himself how well she suited the world of first class. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman in the room and seemed to have made quite an impression on Mr Ismay in particular who had returned for a second dance and a third.<p>

The room became quiet as the evening progressed and the skies around them grew darker, leaving but a few couples dotted around the room. The band played on regardless, never seeming to tire of their euphony though only three duos remained on the floor, the rest having retired to the comfort of the armchairs and settee's. In the corner of the room burned a huge crackling fire which only served to give emphasis to the comfort and luxury of the space in comparison to the black of the growing night.

'I've finally got you all to myself again,' Liam said as they moved in time to the music, having found their way back into each others arms only after the majority of their fellow passengers had called time and retired to their suites and staterooms. 'You've been quite a hit with this lot,' he said, 'I feel like I've barely seen you.'

Carla gave a melodious little laugh, 'I've had a wonderful evening, Liam,' she said as she gazed blissfully into his blue eyes, 'Thankyou.'

By way of reply, Liam tilted his head to one side and closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers, enjoying the prickle across his skin as goosebumps rose like a heat rash on his flesh and the hair on his arms and neck stood to attention.

'Mind if I cut in?' a male voice said, interrupting the moment.

Liam inwardly groaned and he felt Carla slump a little in his arms. Why now? Of all moments. He reluctantly pulled away and opened his eyes to find himself staring at a familiar face.

'Paul!' he blurted out, jumping as though a thousand volts had shot through his body. He heard Carla gasp quietly and saw her face pale as the blood drained from it. He unwittingly tightened his grip on her waist.

'Come on, Liam,' Paul said with an acerbic smile, 'You're not going to deny your brother a dance with such a fine lady, are you? Especially infront of all these people.'

There was only twenty-something passengers left in the room, none of whom were paying much attention to the three on the floor though all it would take was for one to find out the young ladies true identity to cause one hell of a storm and so, with acrimonious eyes, Liam relinquished his hold and after a reassuring squeeze of her hand, passed Carla over to his brother and took a seat by the fireplace, watching as they moved in time to the music, conversing quietly.

'You see, what I don't think you understand,' Paul was saying, 'is that Liam comes from a respectable family with an honourable reputation and for him to be caught cavorting with a lady such as yourself ... it wouldn't reflect well on any of us.'

'I understand that ...' began Carla.

'And there's always the question of your motives,' Paul cut her off.

'My motives?' A crease appeared in her forehead as her brows furrowed.

'We're also a family of considerable wealth,' he said simply. 'Which must be pretty obvious as we're a group of five, six if you include the maid, and all with first class tickets.'

Carla gave an incredulous laugh, her eyes blazed with quiet fury. 'Are you suggesting I'm only interested in Liam for his inheritance?' They had unwittingly stopped dancing and were standing perfectly still on the floor, the only couple who now remained on their feet. She pushed him away in disgust and took a step back, craving a little more distance between herself and this hostile stranger than he was allowing.

'Aren't you?' Paul asked coolly.

'No, I am not!' Carla seethed. Paul raised an eyebrow, searching her face for any sign of deceit. 'I like spending time with him because he is clever and witty and generous,' she said, her voice rising over the strains of the band, drawing a considerable amount of attention to them. 'and he makes me feel something right in here,' she went on, hand clasping over her chest, 'that I have never felt before and I think I'm falling in love with him!'

She said this last just as the band played their final note and her words, heard by all, echoed around the room. Paul was looking suddenly uncomfortable as Liam approached, regarding Carla with an odd expression he had never before seen on his younger brothers face.

'Are you really?' Liam asked her, 'falling in love with me?'

Colour had risen to her cheeks, turning them a beautiful rosy red and her expression was decidedly timorous but her eyes did not leave his as she nodded her head.

'I think so,' she said apprehensively, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and ordering the tears which threatened to rise, back to their source. 'I know it's wrong ...' she went on when Liam said nothing.

'No,' he interrupted, firmly shaking his head, 'it's not wrong. Infact ...' He took a step forward, '... it couldn't be more right!' And with a raucous laugh, he lifted her from her feet and spun her in a full circle eliciting a surprised squeal from her lips. As he set her back down, he lowered his face to hers and met her lips in a kiss, soft and gentle but at the same time, passionate and full of devotion.

'Is that Michelle's dress?' Paul wondered aloud though he might as well have been talking to the wall for all the response he got.

'Paul?' Liam breathed after he had resurfaced. He tore his eyes away from the object of his desire to flash his brother a pleading look. 'You won't tell anyone if I stay with Carla again tonight, will you?' Paul bristled visibly, looking extremely discomfited. 'That is if it's alright with you?' Liam said to her.

Still catching her breath, she nodded mutely and gazed up at him, her eyes having grown dark with desire.

'You can't keep this up forever,' Paul said in exasperation. 'I think if your serious about her you should come clean,' and much to Paul's surprise, Liam acquiesced with a nod of his head.

'I think we should too.' He stared into Carla's green, oval-shaped eyes and once again thought how astonishing they were. 'Because I'm never giving you up Carla,' he whispered to her. 'Never.'

'Are you sure you're ready for your family to find out, though?' Carla whispered in a throaty voice. 'They won't understand,' she said, 'you know they won't.'

'They'll just have to,' Liam replied, 'or risk losing a son.'

'I'll meet you both by the clock at eight-thirty tomorrow morning then,' Paul said. 'That gives you ...' he pulled out a golden pocket watch, flipped it open and examined it a moment, '... nine and a half hours to figure out exactly what you're going to say.' He nodded his head curtly, wished them luck in a sardonic manner and strode from the room, leaving them standing alone on the dance floor while around them, stewards pulled the furniture back into place and the musicians packed their instruments away.

* * *

><p>'Are you sure that's the smartest thing you could have said?' Carla asked as they wandered, hand in hand, back down through the decks. 'I mean, I'm flattered that you think so much of me, Liam, but this is going to have massive repercussions.'<p>

'Well ... they're going to have to find out sometime aren't they?' he said nonchalantly, 'Might as well be sooner rather than later.'

'I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into.'

'I'd be an idiot if I didn't,' he said.

Carla stared up at him as they walked. 'You don't even seem bothered,' she laughed incredulously.

'Right now?' he said, 'I'm not ... not that I'm saying I won't be tomorrow but right now ...' he stopped walking and turned so he was facing her, hands resting on her waist, '... all I can think of is you.'

'Is that right?' She rose onto her toes and met his lips in a kiss, marvelling at the wonderful heat his lips stirred deep inside her. 'Shall we take this back to the cabin?' she asked.

'We may have a bit of trouble doing that,' Liam told her.

'How's that?'

He nodded his head towards the door which led to D-decks promenade where a steward stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him, obviously guarding the entrance.

'Is there another way down to your room?' Liam asked. His lips grazed her forehead as he spoke.

'Not that I know of.'

'Looks like we're stuck up here then because any money he won't let us out. I wonder how our Paul would take to having a guest'

'Not kindly is my guess, anyway, three's a crowd and all that.' She glanced behind her to the steward and turned back to flash Liam a mischievious grin. 'Wait here,' she said as she gently disengaged herself from his arms.

'Why, where are you going?'

'You'll see.'

She turned and continued down the rest of the stairs from where they'd stopped halfway up and cleared her throat as she stepped elegantly up to the steward who turned at the disturbance. To her relief, it was not the same man who had stopped them earlier on their way up and found herself wondering vaguely if he had finished his shift or just moved onto another part of the ship.

'Good evening mi'lady,' the man said, looking politely inquisitive.

'Good evening,' Carla replied, 'I wonder if you could help,' she glanced back at Liam who had descended the rest of the stairs and was leaning casually against the banister, watching with a bemused expression playing across his face. 'You see, my husband and I have come away and left our key inside the room and now can't get inside to retrieve it.'

'That's a matter for the purser I'm afraid, miss,' the steward said. 'You'll find his office on C-deck, just by the stairs.'

'Yes but at this hour ...' Carla left the sentence hanging, smiling sweetly and innocently widening her eyes. 'I'm sure we'll find the office all shut up and the purser retired to his own quarters and we are anxious to get into our room. It's getting a little chilly out here and I'm starting to feel the cold.' She shivered a little as she spoke.

The steward glanced across the room to Liam who flashed him a winning smile, being at too great a distance to hear what was being said. He sighed and dropped his eyes back to Carla's.

'What room number, miss?'

'C - 73'

He nodded and asked her to follow him up to C-deck where he disappeared into the pursers office and returned moments later clutching a little silver key.

'This'll have to be returned first thing,' he said, handing it over.

'I'll see that it is,' Carla nodded her thanks and stepped aside to allow the man access back down to his post.

Liam watched him go in amazement. 'What just happened there?' he asked once the steward was out of earshot.

Carla held up the little key. 'I just found us somewhere to stay,' she said with a wide grin. She gripped his arm as she laughed at his expression.

'But how did you know?' He turned once to ensure the steward was well out the way. 'How do you know that room's not in use?'

She raised her shoulders a little and allowed then to drop back in a shrug. 'I spent half the night dancing with whats-his-name Ismay,' she said, 'who unwittingly informed me that the ship is not full to capacity and therefore a lot of cabins are lying empty, particularly the first class suites on C-deck which they had hoped to fill and would have done if it hadn't been for that coal strike that ended last week.'

Liam could not help but laugh. 'You're a genius,' he told her.

'I do try,' she said, smiling radiantly as he stole a kiss from the corner of her lips.

He linked his arm through hers and gently ushered her towards the door which gave access to the first class suites. 'Let's go and find our new accomodation then, shall we?' he said with another one of his mischievous grins.

* * *

><p>The room was exactly the same as the one Liam shared with Paul up on A-deck, only with a double bed instead of two singles. The carpet was the same shade of gold, the walls boasted the same walnut panelling inlaid with the rich, red velvet, even the furniture was laid out in the same manner.<p>

Carla took a moment to wander around in awe, twisting her head this way and that, trying to see everything at once and marvelling at such luxury aboard a ship. She ran her fingers along the velvet, tried out the comfy looking armchair and allowed her feet, which had already rid themselves of the uncomfortable heeled shoes, to sink into the thick, lush carpet.

'Pretty nice, isn't it?' Liam said. He stood by the door watching her.

'Not bad.' She was now trying out the springiness of the bed, running her hands over the rich duvet. 'I've seen better,' she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Liam wandered over and joined her on the bed. 'I wonder what your Mr Gordon will make of you staying out all night,' he said conversationally as he sat down.

Carla flashed him a look of disdain. 'Firstly,' she began, 'he's not _my_ Mr Gordon and secondly ... I'm kind of glad to get away from him for a while.'

'How so?'

She bristled uncomfortably and wrenched her eyes from his, allowing them to roam the room and land anywhere but on his. 'He came back to the cabin after you left this morning,' she admitted sheepishly. 'Started ranting on about how you had a nerve coming down to our part of the ship and how you'd regret it if you showed your face again.' She paused for breath and stole a sly look at him, wondering as to his reaction but his face remained impassive. 'He was raving like a madman!' she exclaimed. 'I can't believe I entertained the thought of us staying together when we dock; far too possessive for my liking.' She fidgeted with the eiderdown as she spoke. You should have seen the way he looked at me ... like I was just a piece of meat. He was practically foaming at the mouth.'

'You want to watch that one,' Liam told her. 'He strikes me as bizarre.'

'He scares me a little,' Carla admitted, a beautiful rosy pink tinged her cheeks as she blushed.

Liam took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. 'You don't think he's related to Duff-Gordon do you?' he asked suddenly.

An unexpected laugh was ripped from her lips. 'Well he's Scottish too, isn't he?' she asked, eyes crinkling in amusement. 'Stranger things have happened.'

'Maybe we could introduce them. Family reunion, like,' he said. 'Show old Tony what he's missed out on.'

She allowed her wandering eyes to settle on his and with that simple contact, as quick as flicking a switch, the atmosphere changed. The very air around them crackled with heat. 'I thought you did that this morning,' she said, wondering if he was aware she was no longer talking monetary value.

He reached forward and took both her hands in his and very slowly, lowered his head to meet her lips, grazing them gently and sending jets of recognition shooting through her veins. She felt a new kind of heat stir deep within her as every cell in her body seemed to tremble and press closer to him.

'You're beautiful,' Liam said. Then he kissed her again, with his lips, with his tongue. His hand grasped the back of her neck and his mouth opened hers, eliciting a whimper of desire from her. When he pulled away her breathing was tellingly deep. 'Are you sure this is what you want?' he asked with a touch of apprehension. He was amazed that he actually possessed the boldness to initiate this, inexperienced as he was with the opposite sex, though any nerves were miniscule compared to the overwhelming desire he felt for this girl, so great it almost paralysed him. If anything could prove that his and Maria's relationship was purely platonic then it was this incredible, undeniable, all encompassing longing which swept over him.

Carla smiled. 'It's very much what I want.'

He reached out and caught her by the shoulders and as he drew her nearer she felt him tugging on the string of the corset, loosening it deftly whilst bestowing light kisses along her jawline. He stroked the burning skin of her upper back, every move a caress and gently eased the dress back from her shoulders, pushing it away until she was lying naked in his arms. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to relax, relishing the feel of his hands, his lips moving delicately across her skin.

Outside, a persons footsteps could be heard walking by. Carla tensed but his hands held her and soothed her as his mouth came down over hers and she abandoned herself to the ecstasy which was building in every part of her body.

Afterwards, she slept secure in the crook of his arm, giving Liam time to reflect on his promise to Paul, and to Carla herself for that matter. It was strange to think of how one little conversation over the breakfast table could change his life forever but that, he supposed, was exactly what it was going to do. He wondered as to his parents reactions. His mothers was easily guessable: horrorstruck, outraged and possibly grief-stricken at the loss of their untarnished reputation. His fathers reaction was a little more difficult to judge, it could go either way really.

He drew Carla closer to him and kissed the top of her head. What would tomorrow mean for her, he wondered. Did she really understand the immensity of the situation or was she just trusting his judgement? Did it really matter either way as far as he was concerned?

Liam gave his head a little shake and nestled further down into the comfortable bed. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest on Carla's soft hair, enjoying the way it felt against his skin and remembering, with a smile, how only an hour ago he had ran his fingers through it, stroked it and gripped it in the throes of passion.

He kissed her again, smiling as her eyelids fluttered and reassured himself with the thought that, really, it was out of his hands. Fate had brought him to this girl and he was prepared to go to any lengths, do whatever was required of him to keep her, regardless of the consequences.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, an old quote his father had once told him drifted to the forefront of his mind and it was with those words he lost himself to sleep.

_'What will come will come ... and we'll meet it when it does.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are very much appreciated and will be returned wherever possible :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**April 13th 1912**

Morning came sooner than Liam would have liked. He awoke to the crisp, Spring sunlight filtering through a gap and glowing around the edges of the heavy, crimson curtains giving them the appearance of being set alight and casting a dim light around the room. The sound of footsteps echoed back and forth beyond the safety of the door and if he listened hard enough, Liam was sure he could make out the clinking of cutlery from the dining saloon on the floor below.

He looked down at the girl asleep in his arms and allowed for a rapturous smile to captivate his face as memories of the previous night came flooding back. _The ivory dress ... the steward with the key ... dancing in the lounge ... and Carla ... beautiful Carla ... naked in his arms ..._

Her body was warm and relaxed beneath the heavy duvet, curled into his side with one arm slung carelessly over his chest. A lock of hair had fallen before her face and danced merrily with every exhalation. Liam reached for it and gently tucked it back to where it belonged behind her ear, stroking the side of her head as he did.

Her eyelids fluttered as she stirred and upon opening her eyes, glanced around the room, taking a moment as Liam had, to get her bearings. She stretched her body beneath the duvet and looked up at him, a warm smile flitting across her lips, extending up to her eyes.

'Morning.' Her voice was soft and husky. She drew her hand from his chest and reached up to touch his face, a days stubble gracing the lower half, and ran her fingers across his chin. It felt rough and chilled beneath her hot fingertips. She prodded his cheek gently with a fingernail then, with a quiet laugh, withdrew her hand and tucked her head back into his side.

'What?' Liam asked, his lips curling into a bemused smile.

She lifted her head again and raised her eyes to meet his. 'Just making sure you're real,' she said.

His smile widened. 'Oh, I'm real alright,' he replied, his voice a whisper. He cupped the side of her face and leaned down to meet her lips with his, marvelling at how soft and velvety they felt beneath his own. He tugged gently on her bottom lip as he pulled away, eliciting a moan from deep within her and at that little sound his muscles tensed, straining towards her to hasten the contact he so craved.

'No regrets?' he felt compelled to whisper softly into her ear as he planted delicate kisses along her jawline.

'No regrets,' she answered. She tilted her chin up, catching his unguarded lips with hers and sighed softly as his fingers met her untamed hair. Tucking his free hand underneath the duvet, Liam ran it the length of her body, feeling goosebumps erupt upon his touch. He travelled it softly and caressingly from her shoulder down to the back of her bare thigh and up again to rest on her behind.

'How long do we have?' Carla asked, her lips already swollen and prominent on her alluringly rosy face, her breathing unsteady. Her entire body strained towards his, the strength and demand of his will exuding an almost tangible force field.

'Long enough,' was the reply as Liam rolled her onto her back and disappeared beneath the duvet ...

* * *

><p>'You're late,' were the words with which Paul greeted them at the bottom of the grand staircase on th<p>

e sun-stricken A-deck. He had been standing at the top of the lower half, directly underneath the magnificent clock and when he descended, he did so looking for all the world like a Noble descending upon his squires.

He shot Carla, who was wearing the midnight blue gown - the one which Liam had admired the previous morning - a look of such disdain she visibly recoiled and took a subtle step closer to Liam as though fearing the glare from Paul's eyes alone had the power to send her scuttling back down to where she belonged.

After vacating the first class suite that morning, the pair of them had sneaked down to her cabin on F-deck, via the pursers office to return the borrowed key, to get her a change of clothes before meeting Paul because, as Carla pointed out, it may be pushing it a bit for Liam to turn up for breakfast not only with a girl from steerage but with a girl from steerage who was dressed in his little sisters clothes. It was going to be hard enough as it stood.

'I was half expecting you to bottle it and not turn up,' Paul said as he reached their side.

'Oh believe me, the thought crossed my mind,' Liam told him, 'but there's not exactly a great deal of hiding places aboard a ship, is there?' he glanced at Carla, 'we'de be found eventually.'

'You're still set on going through with this then?'

'Absolutely. Nothing's changed, Paul. Nothing.' Breathing heavily, he leant down and captured Carla's lips with his own, determined to prove to his brother that this was the real deal and not some passing fancy.

Paul inhaled an angry breath through his teeth. He glanced hastily around the room and tugged harshly on Liam's arm as though to pull him away. 'Will you stop that?' he hissed, 'Anyone could be watching.'

'Not embarassed, are you?' Liam asked sardonically as he broke away.

Paul glared with such venom that for a moment, Liam was sure he was going to lash out and deal him a blow right there but instead, he closed his eyes and visibly checked himself, stalking past them with wide, angry strides. With a deep breath and a raised brow, Liam ushered Carla after him but before she had taken so much as a step, Paul had turned back and pointed a shaking finger at her.

'You see that our Michelle's gown is returned,' he said shortly, 'and in pristine condition or there'll be hell to pay.' And with that, he carried on down the stairs.

Carla glanced at Liam who puffed air from his cheeks and stifling a strange and sudden desire to laugh, followed in Paul's footsteps down to D-deck.

Liam's hand settled firmly on the small of her back, steering her gently as they walked. The sensation of his touch on such a vulnerable place rippled through her body and sent a wonting shiver down her spine.

'Last chance to bail,' Paul called over his shoulder as they crossed the first class reception, dodging armchairs and writing tables as they went. 'Once you take her in there there's no going back.' Liam threw a thunderous glance at his brothers back and focused his attention on Carla who was breathing deeply through her nose and seemed to be concentrating hard with every step she took. Her eyes were fixed unmovingly on the saloon doors ahead. 'Hey,' he said, his hand falling away from her back and reaching up to grip her arm, stopping her mid-step. The loss of intimate contact left her feeling oddly bereft and she glanced up at him, trying to read his expression but if he felt scared or nervous it was not apparent as his face gave nothing away. He nodded to the doors by which Paul was now standing, waiting for them and watching them with eyes as cold as ice. 'You don't have to go in there if you don't want to,' Liam told her in a gentle voice, 'I can do this on my own.'

She gave a tiny smile. 'That's hardly fair, is it?' She grasped the lapels of his jacket and set about straightening them, brushing her hands along his shoulders and running her fingers across his cuffs. He said nothing but waited until she had relinquished her hold, smiling coyly. 'What?' she laughed as she caught his stare.

'Will I do now?' he asked, eyes crinkling in amusement. 'Do I reach madams high standards?'

'Just about,' she answered in all seriousness though her eyes danced as they met his. 'Maybe you should have gone back to your own cabin for a change of clothes,' she observed. 'Or a different jacket at least, this one's all creased.' She ran her hands the length of the sleeves again, trying to iron the crinkles out.

'You sound like my mother,' he said with a laugh.

'Well there you are then,' she said confidently though her pale skin gave lie to her intrepid tone. 'Maybe we'll get along better than you think.'

'I hope so,' he murmered and leaning down, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

'Come on,' she said with that air of determination. She grasped his hand and nervously entwined her fingers around his own. 'Your brothers waiting.'

* * *

><p>Helen watched her sons approach the table at which she, her husband and their youngest child sat. She had spotted the dark-haired girl as they entered the room though hadn't immediately made the connection between her and the boys, thinking her at first to belong to another family who had crossed the threshold at the same time. She curiously appraised the young girl, wondering as to her significance. She was very pretty, Helen thought, there was no denying that with her black hair pinned up in an elegant roll at the nape of her neck and her olive skin tone with a faint hint of blush. The girls figure was one to be envied and her attire, though not of the best quality or design, was passable in an environment such as this. She obviously didn't have the kind of wealth the Connor's were used to, Helen thought, though she must be rich enough if she could afford to travel first class which was, of course, the most important thing. Her eyes searched the young ladies face and for an inexplicable reason, felt a crest of uneasiness creeping through her although why, she could not quite put her finger on. Her eyes dropped to the girls dainty little hands, one of which was wrapped around her youngest sons and with a jolt that travelled the length of her body, she sucked in a breath ...<p>

* * *

><p>Liam spotted his parents seated at their usual table and, much to his relief saw it to be, as yet, Sutherland free. Something which plainly consoled Carla also as she released a deep, audible, shuddering breath and loosened her grip somewhat on his fingers. She approached the table apprehensively, not enjoying in the slightest being the object of the other threes stares. She sidled closer to Liam, blocking their view as much as was possible.<p>

'Mum, dad, Michelle,' he addressed each occupant in turn, speaking with an air of confidant ease though inwardly he trembled. 'There's someone I'd like you to meet.' He tugged gently on Carla's hand, pulling her reluctantly forwards so his family could survey her properly. She fidgeted nervously with her free hand, disliking the exposure. 'This is Carla,' he said, watching as his mothers brow creased somewhat darkly.

He took a deep breath as Paul's knuckles burrowed painfully into his lower back. It took just about every ounce of willpower he had left not to turn around and throw a punch. 'Her and I ...' he turned to glance at Carla's frightened face, seeking reassurance which he recieved in the form of a weak smile. '... We're ... sort of ...' he broke off and swallowed anxiously, '... an item.'

Paul's hand fell away and both him and Liam eyed their parents for their reaction while Carla cast her gaze around the room, working to steady her racing heart and refusing to meet anyones eyes.

There was a moments silence which seemed to envelope the six in their own private cocoon and press down hard upon them, rendering them all oblivious to their fellow passengers who were going about their business as usual, unaware of the change in the atmosphere over at the Connor table.

'Well,' Barry said in a somewhat shaken though pleasant and affable voice, effectively and instantly dispelling any awkwardness in the air. 'it's a pleasure to meet you, Carla.' He rose to his feet and stepped around the table to take her hand which he brought to his lips in a welcoming kiss. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his forehead creased with wrinkles as he smiled genially, peering at her face curiously. Carla finally allowed her eyes to meet with his and was instantly struck by how kind a face this man posessed. She cast her mind back to Thursday evening where she had stood outside, glaring defiantly up at the boat deck as Helen and Paul had looked down their noses at her and recalled the curious expression on this very gentlemans face as he watched her, not one of loathing like the others but of genuine curiosity and a kindness privy to them only. He had even directed a small smile at her, unbeknown to his family, before turning away. She remembered the courtesy he had extended then, similiar to that which he was displaying now and felt at ease around him. Her heartbeat slowed to a more regular rhythm. He didn't seem to recognise her or at least to connect her to the girl on the deck and that gave her hope.

She smiled back, nerves somewhat alleviated and was rewarded with an affable wink as Barry released her hand and turned to address his son.

'What of Lady Maria?' he asked though he hardly seemed overly concerned. Quite the opposite infact, his tone was one of indifference.

'Her and I are too different to live happily,' Liam said simply. Carla thought his answer sounded rehearsed.

'How can you be sure?' Liam's father questioned him. 'You only met her a few days since.'

'The same could be said for Carla,' Liam replied. 'I just know.'

Barry appraised him a moment, eyes narrowed slightly. 'Well in that case,' he said eventually, 'I'm happy for you, son.' He edged towards Liam and nudged him with his elbow, eyes wandering back to Carla and she couldn't constrain a smile as she recognised the startling similiarities between father and son. Both had been gifted the same sparkling blue eyes and heart-breakingly beautiful smile. Similiar in height and stance, she could have been looking at two images of the same man with a gap of thirty or so years between them. Right now, Barry wore that same mischievous smile she was so accustomed to seeing on Liam's face and her heart soared with happiness at the acceptance he seemed to have bestowed upon her so quickly.

'You've chosen wisely, son,' Barry spoke through his smile in a voice that was obviously meant for Liam's ears though was purposely audible enough for the whole table to hear. 'What a beauty!' He gave his son another dig in the ribs while Carla struggled against the blush that rose to her cheeks, enveloping her entire face in its warmth which slowly crept down her neck.

Barry gave a jovial laugh, brushed her upper arm with his fingertips and retired to his seat between his wife and daughter. Liam risked a glance at Paul who was watching him, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared under his hairline. He stifled a laugh and working hard to keep a straight face, set about pulling up a chair for their guest.

The young English waiter approached the table with a jug in each hand, one full to the brim of ice cold water, the other freshly squeezed orange juice, all pulp removed. He set them down carefully and with a nod to Barry, the head of the table, retreated to the pantry to collect a platter of food.

'So, Carla,' Barry addressed her, tucking his chair closer to the table as he spoke. 'Do you have a surname?'

She cleared her throat before answering. 'Donovan, sir.'

Liam reached for the jug of water and poured some into her glass followed by his own.

'Carla Donovan,' Barry looked thoughtful as he tried the name out, whispering it aloud. 'Donovan ... I don't think we know of any Donovan's, do we dear?' He looked to Helen who had yet to utter a word. She was staring at Carla with a strange mixture of aversion and curiosity and seemed to brush her husbands words off as surely as if he hadn't spoken at all.

'I'm sure I recognise your face,' she said slowly and with a stare of such intensity it renewed the blush on Carla's cheeks and rendered her a sudden inclination to hide childishly behind Liam.

'You do,' Paul put in, straining to hide the laugh from his voice. He was helping himself to a couple of fried eggs from the waiters tray and glanced up just long enough to register Liam's murderous stare before bowing his head, grin stretching wide across his face. Carla felt her heart sink as she watched, her spirits, so high a moment ago, fell along with her gaze and her heart-rate picked up while, unbeknown to her and to the others, Liam kicked his brother under the table, hard enough to make the older ones eyes water though impressively, his face remained quite impassive.

'We do?' Barry asked eagerly, watching Paul shoveling egg into his mouth. He had missing the silent exchange completely. 'We know of the Donovan's after all then?'

'Not exactly,' Paul said upon swallowing. He swung his legs out of reach of Liam's and tried to keep his eyes from his brothers thunderous face lest he should burst with laughter right there. This was turning out to be more fun than he had anticipated. He brought his glass to his lips and took a slow sip of orange juice, purposefully taking his time. He drew breath under his brothers quelling gaze and looked to his father ...

Helen's mouth dropped open suddenly in a scream that never left her lips. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth which was hanging agape and stared wide-eyed at Carla's face as she groped wildly for her husbands arm.

'Barry!' she exclaimed, 'Barry, it's her!'

The smile froze on Carla's lips, a spasm caught her breath.

'Who?' Barry asked, catching his wifes hand as it swung through the air towards him. His eyes were suddenly wide with alarm. 'Who is it, dear?' he asked. 'What in God's name are you talking about Helen?'

Not to be deflected, Helen tore her hand from her husbands grip and thrust a finger across the table to point accusatingly at Carla. 'I recognise her now! The nerve of her ... she's the girl we were watching the other day,' Helen cried, 'Out on the deck. The one from _steerage_.' Her voice had dropped dangerously low as though fearful of being overheard muttering the word which seemed almost offensive to her.

Barry swung his head around to stare at Carla, sizing her up, all friendliness forgotten. 'Steerage?' he repeated. 'Never!'

Paul was still smiling acrimoniously as he watched Liam's face but the latter was too busy trying to pacify his parents to pay any attention. Carla did though and her eyes watered with unshed tears as they met his. She forced them back and hardened her gaze to a glare while Paul had the grace to look slightly abashed under her scrutiny. Michelle, meanwhile, sat in silence, mouth agape, staring between her brother and this stranger whom she vaguely recognised.

'Are you sure?' Barry asked his wife incredulously.

'Of course I'm sure!' she snapped. 'I wouldn't have said otherwise.'

The waiter had frozen in the act of dishing a fried egg onto Helen's pristine plate and stood, spatula suspended in midair as he watched this turn of events with wide eyes. Quickly regaining his composure, he spooned the egg back onto the platter and crept away, unnoticed by any.

'What's the meaning of this, Liam?' Barry thundered. He pushed himself to his feet and towered over the table, weight resting on his knuckles. 'Bringing a girl from steerage up here to dine with us, is this your idea of a joke?' His eyes flashed dangerously as he surveyed his youngest son.

'Please, dad,' Liam pleaded, 'hear me out ...'

'And you!' Barry rounded on Carla whos heart was thudding so hard she wondered if it might just leap right out of her chest and land on the untarnished tablecloth before her. 'Have you no shame?' His voice had risen to a shout and diners at nearby tables were starting to look around in ill disguised curiousity though the clinking of cutlery and buzz of chatter from across the room did well to muffle his words. His eyes, full of kindness for her a moment ago, blazed with cold fury. 'You thought you could take our Liam in with your exotic looks and feminine charm, I suppose? You must have seen him as quite the mealticket,' he said icily.

'No ...' Carla began. She shook her head as Barry spoke. Her eyes began to glisten for a second time, her lids twinkling. 'It's not like that,' she said though her voice was barely audible over the usual mealtime din. 'I didn't mean to fall in love with Liam,' she said shakily, 'it just happened.'

'Love?' Helen snorted, suddenly finding her voice. 'What would you know about love? You set eyes on my boy and saw nothing but pound signs,' she spat.

'It's not true ...'

'You're just a common little tart -'

Liam slammed his fist down on the table as he pushed himself aggresively to his feet. Several pieces of cutlery clattered to the floor. 'That's enough!' he roared, glaring at his mother with all the venom he could muster.

'Liam ...' she began, looking affronted but Liam cut her off.

'How dare you speak to her like that!' he shouted in her face. 'What right have you to judge a person before you know them?'

'Keep your voice down, son,' Barry said evenly.

'Why?' Liam rounded on him, 'To save you the embarassment?'

'You're making a spectacle of yourself, that's why.' He shifted his eyes to Carla who was looking as though she'd like nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her whole and he felt a thoroughly unexpected and unrelished pang of sympathy for the young woman. 'I think you'd better leave,' he told her sternly. 'Go back to your own parts.'

'I believe we can help you there,' came a voice from over Carla's shoulder. She twisted in her seat to see the speaker and suddenly felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath her feet when she found herself staring into the hardened eyes of two burly White Star Line stewards. The young waiter was standing at a distance of ten feet, watching curiously. 'I think you'd better come with us, miss.'

The second steward reached forward and grabbed hold of her upper arm, hauling her to her feet and in a shot, Liam was by her side wrestling with the bigger mans hands, trying to pry his fingers from her arm but to no avail: he held tight.

'Sorry, sir,' the second man said, 'but she has no right to be here as well you know.'

Carla did not offer any resistance as she was hauled bodily from the room, looking back only to see Helen's satisfied smile as she watched with relish and Liam struggling desperately to disengage himself from his fathers arms as Barry was forced to restrain him. The smile had wholly dropped from Paul's face.

'Liam?' a high-pitched, girly voice called and looking up, Carla saw a somewhat familiar face entering the saloon accompanied by two people who could only be her parents. It was the girl called Maria. Liam's future wife. 'What on Earth's going on?' she asked in astonishment though she may as well have been part of the decor for all the attention Liam payed her.

He slid from his fathers grasp as Barry took it upon himself to comfort the shocked Sutherland's and quick as a flash, hurried after Carla and the stewards, barely hearing the pleading call from his mother through the sound of blood pumping in his ears. He caught up with them at the opposite end of the first class reception, standing by the door which led to third class.

'By rights we should be locking you in the brig,' one of the men was saying. 'Sneaking around, masquerading as a first class passenger ... that's a serious offence, miss,'

'Though we'll let you off this once,' the other told her, 'so long as you promise to keep to your own parts from now on.'

'As a passenger of first class,' Liam said from behind them. He spoke with conviction, hoping to intimidate the men with his superiority of class. 'Surely I can take to any part of the ship I please.' Carla started, having imagined him to still be locked in the grip of his fathers strong arms. Her bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm and the flesh quivered on her bones. The expression of her face seemed disturbed and anxious and her lips were half asunder as though she meant to speak to him. She drew a breath but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence.

'I'm afraid not, sir,' the first man said. 'First class passengers are not permitted to visit second or third class areas. You'll have to remain here.'

'I'm sorry, Liam,' Carla said as she found her voice, it was no louder than a whisper. She glanced over his shoulder to where Maria, Paul and Barry all stood, watching staidly. 'I'm sorry.' She finally allowed the stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears to collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeded.

In two strides, Liam was at her side and with a force that wrenched her free of her captives hands, pulled her towards him and into the safety of his arms. His breast heaved convulsively as he tried to stop his own tears from forming. 'Don't say that,' he whispered, burying his face in her collar bone. 'Never say that.'

She brought her hands up to clasp his neck and bring her cheek to his while in return, he covered her face in frantic kisses. She held him as firmly as her strength allowed and sobbed freely into his pique, black jacket. 'I love you, Liam,' she whispered in his ear as foreign hands grasped impatiently at her arms but before they could wrench her away, she reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in one last spontaneous and passionate kiss. 'Just know that.'

There was a bitter cold draught as the door to the third class area was opened and she was pulled sternly from Liam's arms. The stewards turfed her out silently and unceremoniously into the frosty sunshine. 'I love you!' she cried as the door was slammed in her face with a brutal finality.

On the other side, the smaller of the two stewards locked the door securely and pocketed the key. 'That ought to do it,' he said 'Need to keep this door locked from now on. Can't have that little toerag finding her way back in now, can we?' he murmered as he tested the handles, making doubly sure they wouldn't budge and with a quick nod to Liam, they departed as quickly as they had come.

Liam stared at the barrier and just for good measure, gave the handles a good rattle himself but it was to no use, they held fast. Frustrated and infuriated, he slammed his fist against the mahogany wood of the door and called her name, hoping she would hear but no reply came. He rested his forehead against it and closing his eyes, allowed his mind to flit over the ships layout. He had seen plans of the decks before leaving Manchester, his father having aquired the rolls of paper for his own perusal, and tried desperately to remember another route to below decks but his mind failed to comply.

A warm touch tensed his muscles and crept up to his shoulder, squeezing gently in a comforting manner.

'You'll thank us one day, son,' Barry's voice said softly.

Liam wrenched his eyes open, his breast heaving. 'Thank you?' he asked incredulously, 'when you may just have ruined my one chance of happiness?'

'One chance?' Barry chuckled. 'Come now, Liam, you're only young. You've plenty chances of happiness ... Lady Maria is in the saloon ...'

Liam pushed away from the door and whirled around, knocking his fathers hand from his shoulder. His eyes glowered dangerously. 'I love Carla!' he exclaimed. 'Not Maria. Carla. What part of that do you not understand?'

His fathers gaze hardened immediately and he took a moment to draw himself up to his full height, a good few inches taller than his son. 'Now see here, young man,' he said sternly, 'That girl is a no good, gold-digging impudent little whelp and if I find out you've had anything more to do with her ...' but Liam didn't stick around to hear the conclusion of his fathers threat. With a look of utter disgust, he pushed past him unceremoniously and stormed off towards the stairs. 'This is by no means over,' he called back over his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time in a most ungentlemanly manner. 'I will find her again and when I do ...' he left the threat hanging in the air as he disappeared from view.

'Paul?' Barry summoned his eldest and most responsible son without turning to look at him. Paul pushed himself from the saloon doorframe where he leant, arms crossed, and walked obediently to his fathers side. 'Go after him, will you?' Barry asked. 'And when you find him don't let him out of your sight. I want to know every movement our Liam makes from now on.'

Paul gave a curt nod of his head and took off up the stairs after Liam leaving Barry alone in the reception. He sighed resignedly as he watched his second son escape his line of vision.

'We've never had this bother from our Michelle,' he muttered to himself and with a small smile, he turned and rejoined his wife and daughter for a spot of breakfast.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading :) Please review.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**It's been a while, I know. I can only apologise and hope that people are still reading this :)**

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><p>As the door slammed, Carla took a step back and listened to the horribly conclusive sound of a key scraping in the lock. Her body trembled perpetually though she was careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders, keen as a knife. She shook with fright and with grief which, for the moment, remained only a physical ailment.<p>

The handles rattled suddenly and with no further thought she turned and fled, fearful they may have changed their minds about locking her up despite their half-hearted assurances to the contrary.

She bolted to the wrought-iron staircase, down to E-deck and ran the length of the promenade, caring not for the startled glances she incurred along the way. She wrenched the door to the long passage called Scotland Road open and took off, dodging stewards and crewmen who were forced to flatten themselves along the wall to allow her passage. One or two of them called after her in indignation or anger but their words were indistinguishable over the sound of blood pumping in her ears and that of her own footsteps.

Down the stairs to F-deck, she launched herself at the door labelled F-59 and slammed it shut behind her, pressing the palms of both hands against it, head bowed as she drew ragged and unsteady breaths.

'What?' said a cold voice behind her, 'No lover boy?'

She whirled around, wide eyed, to confront the speaker but upon seeing only her roomate, she relaxed visibly. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes, not altogether pleased to see the Scotsman.

'Tony,' she acknowledged him quietly. Her voice shook slightly though she was sure it could be put down to breathlessness.

Tony eyed her unscrupulously from his position on the bed, lying on his side with his head propped up by a hand as he perused an old and tattered paper-back book. 'So where is he?' he asked conversationally.

'Does it matter?' she muttered as she crossed the tiny room and sank down onto her own bed, falling back and throwing an arm above her head. She stared blankly up at the wire frame which held the mattress of the top bunk in place and breathed heavily but silently through her nose. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

The other bed creaked loudly as Tony sat up and tossed his book aside. 'What happened?' he asked. He waited a moment for an answer but when none were forthcoming he pushed himself to his feet and moved over to her, perching on the edge of her mattress, running his fingers along the rough hewn of the material and wishing he was brave enough to take her hand but knowing such an action would only incur a rebuttal.

She shook her head, blinking furiously as the collected tears threatened to escape and lifted a hand, gripping a fistful of hair on the top of her head tightly, almost painfully.

'Did he hurt you?' Tony asked urgently in his strong East coast accent. His eyes were fixed unmovingly on hers. 'Because if he did I'll sort him out for you.'

She allowed a facetious laugh to escape her lips, turning her head slightly to see him properly. 'Sort him out?' she repeated.

'Yes,' he said, eyes crinkling in amusement. 'What's funny about that?'

She laughed again and shook her head a second time. 'He didn't hurt me,' she reassured him, 'it's just all getting too complicated,' she sighed. 'That's all.'

'Ah,' said Tony, nodding his head. 'Well a blind man could have seen that coming.' He softened his words with a sympathetic smile though it was not enough to placate Carla who pushed herself up onto her elbows and eyed him, a small crease appearing between her eyes.

'How do you mean?' she asked.

Tony cocked his head to the side. 'Come on, Carla,' he chided gently. 'That man lives in a different world,' he said. 'He's all about fancy clothes, grand houses and posh friends whereas folks like us are far simpler. We're more bothered about where next months rent's coming from ... how we're going to feed ourselves and our families this week ... how we're going to clothe our children as they grow bigger.' He bit the bullet and reached out to take her hand, rejoicing inwardly as she did not rebuff him. 'Our worlds are not meant to meet,' he went on, voice no louder than a whisper. 'Why d'you think they went to the extreme of splitting this ship into seperate parts?'

Carla swung her legs off the bed, raising herself to a seated position. 'Liam said it was to stop the sight of one of them making one of us ill,' she smiled dolefully.

Tony wrapped his fingers over hers and squeezed them gently. 'Other way round, darling,' he whispered.

Carla stared at him a moment with shimmering, glistening eyes. A single tear broke free and trickled forlornly down her cheek as she was forced to acknowledge the truth in his words. 'It's so unfair,' she sobbed, turning her head to face him.

'I know,' he said. 'But that's just the way it is.'

'What did I think I was doing?' she asked herself aloud, scrunching her face up and dropping her gaze to the floor. 'Letting myself fall for a man I couldn't ever have ... not properly anyway.'

'Don't be so hard on yourself,' Tony said quietly. He reached up tentatively and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. 'If anyone's to blame it's him, not you.'

'How do you mean?'

Tony seemed to hesitate a moment. The hand on her shoulder squeezed a little tighter. 'I don't want to upset you any more, Carla,' he said eventually as her eyes met his. He raised an eyebrow sternly. 'But I don't buy that mans ignorance for one moment.'

'I don't understand ...'

'He knew full well that nothing could ever come of a relationship with a girl from outwith his class but he still embarked on one ... gave you hope ... made you love him ...'

Carla gave a gruff, disbelieving shake of her head. Her mouth fell open, eyes wide and unmoving and when she spoke her voice had risen in pitch. 'Are you saying he knew what he was doing all along?' she asked, wholly horrorstruck at the thought.

Tony gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and nodded his head slowly.

'But ... why?' Carla spluttered. 'Why would he do that?'

Tony hesitated and averted his eyes. His mouth twisted into a grimace.

'Tony?' she prompted.

'He's got another woman, hasn't he?' Tony said deliberately as though to speaking to a particularly slow child. 'We both saw her up on the deck, standing with him the other night when we were outside, remember?'

'Maria,' Carla nodded, feeling suddenly sick as her muddled thoughts slid into place with perfect, stomach-churning clarity.

'Maria,' Tony repeated. 'He wants to marry her ... his family want him to marry her ... what better way to grab her attention than to make a rival in another beautiful woman? It'll only make her fight for him.'

'God, I've been so stupid!' Carla exclaimed. She dropped her head to her hands and grabbed fistfuls of hair, tugging in anger and frustration.

'I suppose he was going to introduce you to them sooner or later,' Tony said. 'Make sure Maria knew what she was up against.'

Carla released her grip slowly and deliberately and looked up at him, streams of tears ran unheeded down her cheeks, soaking into her dress and dripping to the floor. 'That's exactly what he's just done,' she whispered. Tony stared, his black eyes wide and uncomprehending. 'He took me to breakfast with his family in the first class saloon and they recognised me from that night on the deck. The waiter called for security and I was thrown out.' She stopped talking and frowned at the floor. 'But Liam came after me,' she said. 'He tried to stop the stewards from taking me,'

'Part of the act,' Tony said gently. 'He played his part to perfection.' His hand slipped from her shoulder to her back where he caressed her skin, rubbing gently in soothing circles.

'They threatened to lock me up,' Carla whispered morosely. 'I thought they _were_ going to ... that's why I ran down here ...'

'He's the one who should be locked up, preying on young girl's hearts.'

'Oh God ...' Carla exclaimed suddenly. Her head fell to her hands once again.

'What is it?' Tony asked.

'I slept with him,' she whispered in a voice so quiet he was forced to lean closer to hear. She lifted her head and stared wide-eyed at the door straight ahead, clawing desperately at the skin on her face in absolute horror. 'I hadn't ever ... I was a ...' she trailed off as a fresh wave of tears overflowed and her face contorted in agony. 'I can't believe it!' Her body convulsed as she sobbed unashamedly, her breast heaving with every ragged breath.

Wordlessly, Tony wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body to his. She allowed herself to fall into his embrace, taking comfort from his warmth as he pressed his lips gently to her head and whispered soothingly in her ear.

'He's not worth your tears, Carla.'

'I ... love him,' Carla blurted out between sobs. She used the heel of her hand to wipe at her eyes which were red and tender-looking. 'I love him.'

'He's not right for you,' Tony told her simply. 'One day you'll find someone who is.' He stroked her hair lovingly as she rested her weight against him. 'Maybe -' the word fell from his lips before he could catch it and he grimaced uneasily as he held her tighter to him.

'Maybe what?' she asked.

Tony hesitated, wondering if it might do more damage than good to further speak his mind. 'Maybe ... you already have,' he said eventually.

There was a moments silence which felt to Tony to last an hour instead of the mere second it did and then Carla was pushing his comforting arms away as she disengaged herself from his embrace, leaning back and lifting her magnificent head to view him clearly through puzzled eyes. He looked deep into her own, beautiful, large and oval, shining so brightly in the dim light of the cabin and recognised something remarkably akin to desire in them. He saw the remnants of tears clinging to her eyelashes and the trails they had left as they poured down her shapely pink cheeks and felt his fingers rise to wipe them away. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, smooth like velvet and extraordinarily perfect and her lips ... her lips were parted slightly. They were plump and deliciously pink and inviting ... so inviting ... and so warm beneath his own as he pressed them to hers.

A long dormant passion stirred deep inside him as he sucked gently on her lower lip. He brought his hands to her shoulders and with a pressure so gentle and tender, he pushed her back onto the bed ...

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><p>Liam stormed up to C-deck followed by B-deck and then up to A, caring not for his fellow passengers who scurried out of his way with exclamations of indignation and fright. Paul, abiding by his fathers wishes, followed him in a steady jog, calling his name with increasing frustration.<p>

'Liam, just stop would you?' Paul cried as he climbed the third staircase two steps at a time, thanking the powers above that he was in relatively good shape and therefore, able to keep up with the younger man. His pleas fell on deaf ears as Liam stormed ahead, seemingly oblivious. He reached the boat deck and headed haughtily for the door in the corner. The one which would take him outside. Usually it was manned by a steward but surprisingly, the post was standing empty tonight which, Liam thought, was just as well. The mere sight of one of those formal, white fitted jackets and matching caps may be enough, in the mood he was in, to invoke any violent tedencies and if that were to happen, it would be him locked in the brig, never mind Carla.

Paul had managed to close the gap, catching hold of his brothers arm just as he threw open the door to the deck. 'Just wait a minute,' he said in his best authoritative voice .

Liam spun round and wrenched his arm from Paul's grasp. 'Why?' he spat. 'Why should I do anything for you when you've just ruined everything?'

'Because I've -' Paul began loudly but he broke off and glanced around in agitation at the curious faces of other people around the stairs, regarding them icily, very conscious that he and Liam were providing some early morning entertainment for their fellow, nosy passengers. Paul lowered his voice to a growl and turned back to his brother. 'Because I've done you a favour in the long run,' he said earnestly.

'A favour?' Liam cried incredulously, not bothering, as Paul did, to keep his voice down. 'What planet are you living on, Paul?' he tapped his brother harshly on the temple, the older one batting his fingers away in annoyance, his face flushing with irritation. 'You took what Carla and I had, you threw it on the floor and you stamped on it for good measure!'

'And do you think it would be any different if we had done it your way?' Paul retaliated. His ears were turning red with rage in the same way their fathers did and his voice was rising to match Liam's, regardless of the onlookers. 'Do you think they would have reacted any differently if you'd sat them down and calmly talked it over?'

'Thanks to you we'll never know now, will we?' Liam answered coldly and with a deathly glare, he pushed past his brother and headed back the way he had come.

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><p>Carla broke her lips free from Tony's and twisted her face away, momentarily stunned by what was happening and feeling oddly powerless to stop it. 'Tony,' she whispered as he leant into her again. Her voice was hoarse and throaty. 'Stop.' The word came out a half-hearted whimper.<p>

His fingers found her face and turned it smartly back to his, jamming his lips against her own and leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline.

'Tony ...' She was slowly coming back to herself as though awakening from a deep sleep and she wrestled gently with his fingers, trying to free herself from his grip as his mouth descended on her neck. She blinked once or twice and gave her head a shake, feeling oddly lethargic. Tony was sucking on a sensitive spot just above her collar-bone, one hand holding the roll of hair sitting at the nape of her neck. His lips were rough and callous, his tongue eager if not a little forceful. Not at all like Liam's passionate yet sensitive embrace.

Something stirred within her at the thought of the Englishman.

Liam Connor ... his image, dredged up by her imagination, flashed before her eyes. His black hair danced in the stiff breeze which blew across the Atlantic, his blue eyes shone in the crisp, fresh sunlight. He was smiling at someone. A girl in a beautiful coral gown and a genuine diamond necklace and tiara. She bore a startling resemblance to the girl called Maria whom Carla had met just half an hour before. Whoever she was, she was much smaller than him. Her light brown tresses danced wildly around her shoulders and her eyes gazed up at him, filled with so much love he seemed to find it impossible to resist leaning down and covering her lips with his. As they met in a kiss, Carla's stomach jolted and the image changed suddenly. The man was exactly the same but the girl was taller and her hair was black and straight instead of brown and curly. Carla recognized it as her hair. In her mind, she reached up to impatiently bring her mouth to his but when their lips met they were not at all as she had expected, hard and dominating as they were, and she recoiled from his touch, opening her eyes to see a very different black-haired man leaning towards her. Her forehead creased with bewilderment as a sudden eye-watering clarity took hold and her mind snapped back to reality. With a burst of energy, elusive to her moments ago, she pushed him from her with such strength he almost catapulted off the bed, grabbing at the frame to keep upright.

'What d'you think you're doing?' Carla clamored tempestuously. Eyes never leaving his, she pushed herself off the bed and stumbled unsteadily the few steps to the opposite end of the tiny room wanting as much space between them as was possible in the confined cabin. She wiped his saliva from her face with the back of her hand and drew deep steadying breaths, feeling her heart racing in her chest. 'How dare you ...' she gasped as she leant against the wall for support, fearing her knees may just buckle. 'How dare you!'

Her wits were returning to her as the initial shock wore off, accompanied by a raging, heated fury. Her eyes flashed with an unequivocal acrimony and the scorn, plain on her face was echoed in her stance. She rested her hands on her hips, leaning her weight on one foot, chest heaving with every breath.

'Look ... I'm sorry -' Tony began, holding a pacifying hand towards her and trying for a look of humility. He too wiped his face dry.

'No you're not,' she said, disgust and disdain dripping from every word. 'You've wanted that since day one,' she said, sizing him up with judgmental eyes. 'You were just waiting for the right moment to take advantage!'

'That's not true -'

'You saw I was upset and vulnerable and too muddled and confused to know what I wanted and you went straight for the kill!'

'It wasn't like that -'

'All that guff about Liam not loving me ... was that part of the ploy too, Tony? Make me think the worst of him so you'de have a better shot at getting me into bed?'

'Now hang on -'

'I can't believe I almost fell for it.' She wrenched her eyes from his and fixed them on a point above his head, covering her mouth with clenched fingers as she allowed a humourless laugh to escape, green eyes shining with unshed tears. 'I can't believe I almost fell for it,' she repeated, sounding each word slowly and emphatically. Her hand fell away leaving a curious pensive smile clinging to her lips. almost as though she was amused at her own stupidity.

Tony had pushed himself to his feet and was standing by the bed, both hands raised infront of him in a gesture of surrender. 'I didn't plan this,' he said slowly. 'I didn't,' he stated when she snorted by way of reply. He fixed his wide eyes unmovingly on her and she was struck with an inexorable force drawing her own eyes to his. She raised a shaky hand to wipe away her tears. 'You said it yourself, Carla,' he went on. 'You're confused and upset and of course I'm not blaming you for that, anyone would be with what you've been through.'

Carla's face twisted with contempt and her lips parted.

'Please hear me out,' Tony added before she could utter a word. She watched him for a moment then closed her mouth with a sigh, breaking eye contact as she cast her gaze haughtily around the room. She shifted her weight to the other foot.

'Now I never meant to hurt you, believe that if you believe nothing else I say,' Tony began, 'and I'm offering you my full apologies for what just happened. It was uncalled for and it was selfish and if I could recall the last two minutes I would.'

Carla was still allowing her gaze to flit around the cabin, landing anywhere but on his person but he could tell by her absolute stillness that she was listening. She remained untalkative as she contemplated his words and gave a loud sniff, using the back of her hand to dry her cheeks. Her eyes flitted back to his. They were open and honest looking and full of some underlying emotion that she recognized but could not quite put her finger on.

'Please forgive me,' he said in a voice no louder than a whisper. His face creased in an apologetic grimace. 'I really care about you and ... and I would really love for you to give me another chance.'

Carla inhaled a deep breath through her nose and puffed air from her cheeks. She looked down at the floor as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and ran her fingers over the roll at the nape of her neck. It had come apart somewhat with Tony's fingers grasping at it and loose tresses fell haphazardly over her shoulders and down her back.

_'She didn't tell you she belongs to another?' _

_'And who might that be?'_

_'Me.'_

Tony's words. Echoing inside her head.

_'Keep away from her.'_

Carla's eyes rose again to meet his and her stare hardened perceptibly. She'd never noticed before how his eyes glimmered in the light, like black, glittering gems. A shiver ran the length of her spine as she looked into their icy depths and wondered how she could ever have been attracted to them in the first place. The monumental distinctness between his and Liam's struck her suddenly and her hand fell away from her disheveled hair, dropping back to her side as the name of his demeanor came to her. Desperation. Tony's eyes were full of desperation though there was definitely an edge of defiance and something not dissimiliar to enmity in there too. It made her feel uncomfortable to have them stare so unrelentingly at her and she subtly narrowed her own eyes against them.

'No,' Carla said in a voice which struggled to carry across the tiny room.

Tony leant forward, turning his ear slightly towards her. He furrowed his brow as though sure he had misheard.

'I said no, Tony!' There was mistaking her that time.

The look of despair slid from his face to be replaced with one of scorn and ridicule. His hands fell to his sides and his back straightened, drawing himself up to his full height - considerably taller than her. She wondered if he was trying to intimidate her and realised a second later that she wouldn't put it past him.

'You're not still hung up on the Englishman, are you?' he asked scornfully. 'After everything I told you about him?'

'You're words mean nothing,' Carla spat. 'I know Liam loves me -'

'Then where is he?' Tony shouted. He exaggerated a quick, searching look around the cabin and brought his wide, mad eyes back to her face. 'Because I don't see him anywhere. If he loved you so much then why did he let them take you away?' His left eyelid was twitching furiously.

'Because he didn't have a choice -'

'Wrong, darling. He just doesn't care enough to come after you!'

The words hit her like a sledgehammer to the heart and a spasm caught her breath but loathe to see the satisfaction in his eyes, she forced her face to remain impassive and drew a deep, steadying breath before speaking.

'You're wrong,' she said when her voice was steady enough to talk without it trembling and giving her away.

'No I'm not.' He shook his head. 'If he really cared he would have found another way down by now. He's a first class passenger after all, he can go wherever he likes with the right persuasion.'

Whatever retaliation Carla had on her lips fell away into nothingness as she tried to force away the truth in his words. Her eyes were betraying her by filling up again, powerless as she was to stop it.

Tony watched her struggle to force her tears back and felt his anger slide away with them. In that moment, watching her, he wanted nothing more than to hold her little body in his arms, protect her from the world and call her his own.

'I care about you,' he said in a whisper. 'More than you realise. Forget about him and come with me when we dock. I'll take better care of you than he can.'

'You're mad -'

'I'm not mad,' he stated. His own eyes glistened and twinkled in the light. 'Just in love.'

Carla, shifting her weight again, froze to the spot. Her legs felt almost paralysed, as though her feet had taken root deep in the bowels of the ship and she felt suddenly sure if she were to take one meagre step forwards she would simply collapse in a heap to the floor. Her dark, irate eyes searched his face with a piercing stare and her lips had parted slightly in a mixture of disbelief and anger. Several lines appeared on her forehead.

'You don't love me, Tony,' she whispered after taking a moment to recollect her thoughts.

'I do -'

'No you think you do but you don't. You can't.'

'Come with me,' he pleaded. 'When we get to New York ... come with me.'

He was staring at her with such intensity her whole body quivered. His head was already shaking gently from side to side before her lips had even formed the word he so desperately did not want to hear.

'No.'

His first teardrop fell and he squeezed his eyes shut, face screwed up against the intense wave of emotion. He had heard the term 'heart-broken' before but not until now had he experienced the pain ripping so deep it felt like his heart was literally splitting in two. He sobbed unashamedly under her gaze and clutched at his chest as though hoping to hold himself together.

'I'm leaving now, Tony,' Carla said. She felt behind her for the door handle. ' And I think it's best if I ask to be relocated to another room.'

He lifted his head from his hands, where it had dropped. 'Another room?'

'Well you can't seriously want to carry on living with me after this.'

'No!' Tony said. He took a step towards her, lifting his hand as though to attempting to pacify her. She tightened her grip on the handle. 'No, please don't leave. I don't want you to leave.' His voice sounded so desperate she almost gave in to him.

'I think it's for the best,' she said, thinking definitely for her if not him.

He gave a sharp nod of his head, eyes turning somewhat mocking. 'So you're going to wait for him then, are you? Hope he comes for you?'

When she didn't answer his eyes hardened, his pacifying hand dropped and his face, previously crumpled with sobs, straightened out. He looked madder than ever what with the blood-shot eyes and red-tipped nose. 'If you go I'll find you,' he said in a chillingly cool voice. 'I'll knock down every door on this ship until I find you and I won't leave it without you.' He had drawn himself up to his full height again and took what she supposed was a menacing step towards her.

'Tony ...' Carla said, half-laughing at his sudden change in demeanor, bewildered as to its abruptness. His face remained just as unemotional as she stared at him. His eyes, no longer desperate, were now brimming with antipathy. A crease appeared between her own eyes as she gazed uncertainly at him, fearing silently for her safety and wondering as to her next move. If he was serious, which he certainly seemed to be, then she had a whole new problem on her hands.

'You're going nowhere,' he reiterated.

She sighed with a sudden frustration and disbelief and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers as she laughed wildly but humourlessly. She turned to wrench the door open feeling that, at that moment, no amount of space between her and her roommate would be enough. There was always crew members on Scotland Road, if she could just get up the stairs she could alert one of them and have herself removed from that room by lunchtime but she hadn't counted on Tony's possessive streak and before she had even taken a single step outwith the cabin, he was upon her.

Rough hands grasped at her waist, pulling her back inside and one found its way over her mouth, clamping down hard, as she let out a surprised squeal.

'I told you, you're going nowhere,' he hissed in her ear.

He dragged her back inside the cabin and threw the door shut, whirling her around and slamming her body against the steel frame. Her head smacked sickeningly against the metal and she screwed her eyes shut as a laser beam of heat screamed from the top of her skull to the soles of her feet.

'You will be mine,' she heard his Northern accent, distant and echoing. Her legs felt about to slide from beneath her. 'No matter what it takes.' She forced her eyes to open and, as her world spun around her, caught a glimpse of shining black eyes, full of triumph, glittering like gems.

Then everything went black.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Thankyou for the lovely reviews. They mean the world to me.**

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><p>'He's spent the day in there sulking,' Paul was telling his father. 'He won't talk to me and he's refusing to leave the room.' He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one foot looking for all the world like a petty child telling tales on another.<p>

'Well, you know your brother,' Barry said. 'Stubborn as a mule. He gets that from your mother.'

'How is mother?' Paul asked.

Barry looked up and down the length of the corridor in which they were stood, searching for potential eavesdroppers. He had left the confines of his own suite to visit his sons in theirs and was now stood outside their door, holding a hushed conversation with his eldest, far from the inquisitive ears of his youngest.

'In rather a bad way, I'm afraid,' he admitted. 'Her and I spent most of the morning trying to placate the Sutherland's, doing our best to salvage any further relations.'

'Can that be done?'

Barry drew a deep breath and pursed his lips tightly. He clasped his hands behind his back, throwing his chest out. 'Difficult to say,' he said. 'Young Maria seems quite keen still but her parents are a different matter,' he sighed and cast his eyes morosely to the plush red carpet of the floor. 'No doubt we've been the talk of the ship today,' he said. 'After that little performance this morning, no one's going to forget about this in a hurry.'

Paul placed a comforting hand on his fathers arm. 'Try and not let it bother you, father,' he said. 'Families and reputations have survived far worse scandals and nobody can place the blame for this on you and mother's shoulders. This situation is down to Liam and nobody else.'

'I've a mind to come in there and beat some sense into him,' Barry said, staring at the rich mahogany door as though willing it to just disappear. 'If he could see what he's done to his mother ... she's been in the suite since the Sutherland's left us this morning, sobbing her heart out. She refused to go to lunch so I had young Louisa, the chambermaid, ask for a platter of sandwiches to be brought to the room but she's yet to touch one. I'm worrying myself she'll fall ill,' he raised a finger and shook it at the door, 'and it'll be down to Liam if she does.'

Paul listened to his fathers words with furrowed brows, a look of deadly seriousness playing across his face. 'Perhaps I should talk to her,' he said after a moments thought.

'No, no,' Barry dismissed the notion with a wave of the hand. 'I left her in the care of our Michelle and she's such a gentle little soul, if anybody can bring your mother round it's her and anyway ... I want you here, sticking to our Liam's side night and day until we get off this damn ship and if he even thinks the words 'third-class' I want to know about it. Understood?'

'Yes father.' Paul said meekly.

'You're a good man, Paul,' Barry said, gazing fondly at his eldest son, raising a hand to grasp him by the shoulder. 'I hope I can rely on you.'

Paul puffed his chest out at his fathers praise and nodded his head in a manner which he hoped was both judicious and austere. 'Of course,' he said.

Barry pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped it open, examining the hands at arms length. 'It's almost time for dinner,' he stated. He carefully slid the watch back from where it had come in one fluid, practised motion. 'I doubt Helen will be up to something so public after this morning so the pair of you will be excused from dining with us tonight but I'll expect to see you both tomorrow morning, bright and early and tell that brother of yours his parents and sister will be expecting an apology.'

Paul nodded his assent as Barry turned to leave.

'Oh,' he added. 'I've told the Sutherland's to expect an apology too, poor Dorothy was most upset. Have Liam prepare one for the morning.'

'Yes father.'

With one final pat on the arm and a quick, affectionate smile, Barry made his leave. He strolled the length of the corridor, hands reaching behind his back in a most gentlemanly pose and pulled the door open, holding it for a middle-aged couple who nodded their thanks as they entered. With a quick glance back, he was gone.

Paul watched him all the way then pushed the door to his room open, not bothering to return the polite greetings directed his way from the passing couple, and kicked it shut behind him.

'That went well,' he said sarcastically once on the other side. He tugged at the bow-tie around his neck until it came loose, tossing it on the dresser.

'What did he say?' Liam asked.

Paul sank down onto his bed. 'Oh, you're talking to me now?' he said. 'I am honoured.'

Liam shot him a withering look. 'If you don't want to tell me ...'

'He says mum's taken it badly and has spent the day in tears.'

'Worrying over her precious reputation,' Liam muttered.

'And you've to compose two decent apologies for the morning. One for mum, dad and Michelle, the other for Maria and her folks.'

Liam snorted. 'They'll be lucky.'

He was perched on the rather expansive window ledge, gazing out to the endless blue of the ocean. His dinner jacket, having been worn almost a full twenty-four hours now, hung untidily from his shoulders, shoes kicked off earlier lay haphazardly by the bed and bow-tie, unfastened, was loose around his neck. His hair was dishevelled in a way his mother would most certainly disapprove of and his eyes were deeply undershadowed with anxiety and strain.

'I don't see you have any other option,' Paul was saying. 'If you want the rest of the journey to go smoothly anyway, which, by the way, I recommend you do. Dad said little Maria wasn't too put off.'

Liam growled in exasperation and threw his head back, raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'You still don't get it,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I never wanted _little_ Maria, her company was forced on me from the off!'

'Well I suggest you get used to her,' Paul told him, 'because mum and dad are set on you marrying her, now more than ever. Infact, they spent all of this morning trying to salvage some kind of relationship with Dorothy and Sir Eric.'

A guttural noise escaped the back of Liam's throat as he pushed himself from the window ledge and thrust his feet into black, perfectly-polished shoes.

Paul was watching earnestly. 'What are you doing?' he asked with a sense of urgency.

'I need some air.' Liam fixed his jacket onto his shoulders and ran his fingers the length of the collar.

'I'm coming with you.' Paul pushed himself upright in the bed and pulled his own shoes towards him.

Liam gritted his teeth. 'I don't need a babysitter, Paul.'

'Dad seems to think you do.'

Liam moved over to the mirror, peering at his reflection, running both hands through his dishevelled hair. 'Course he does,' he muttered. He turned and reached for the door handle.

'Wait up!' Paul exclaimed as he fiddled with his shoe laces. He cursed under his breath as the cabin door slammed shut behind Liam and, grabbing his own jacket, set off after his brother.

He felt a certain sense of deja-vu following Liam up the stairs to the boat deck, calling after him to slow down, ignoring busy-body passengers who whispered behind their hands as they passed. He wondered if any of them were the same people who witnessed the first little performance that morning and couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he mused over what people must think of them.

The boat deck was relatively quiet, most people having long retired to the warmth of their rooms, Paul supposed, readying themselves for the evenings dining. It was almost dark out. All that remained of the day was a beamless amber light along the West, the moon being yet beneath the horizon. It was bitterly cold.

Liam was standing with his back to Paul, staring out over the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, twinkling in the reflection from the lights on decks below. The water was calm save for the white, frothy, foam-topped ripples that were being created in the giant ships wake.

'You have to stop running ahead like that,' Paul said. 'I'm not as young as I used to be.'

'You're not yet thirty!' Liam exclaimed as he turned to stare at his breathless brother. 'A healthier diet's what you need ... and you'd do better to stay off the cigars - I know you smoke them,' he added when Paul tried to look affronted. 'I've smelt it on you.'

Paul grimaced. 'I hope mum and dad haven't.'

'I'm sure you'd have known about it by now if they had.'

'Let's walk,' Paul said. He gripped Liam's arm below the elbow and gave it a tug. 'We're blocking the door.'

Sure enough, when Liam turned he saw an elderly couple standing in the doorway, watching them both expectantly. As Paul pulled him away, they bestowed on Liam a courteous smile which was returned half-heartedly and out of politeness only. He pulled his arm from Paul's grasp and fell into step beside him, letting their feet carry them towards the bow of the ship.

'I hope you're thinking about how you're going to word that apology,' Paul said after they had walked a short distance in silence.

Liam gave a snort and turned his head to stare at his brother with deriding eyes. 'As if anyone's getting one,' he scoffed. 'I'll apologise for causing mum such distress but not for Carla and I.'

Paul gave a frustrated sigh and sucked in a chilled breath through gritted teeth. His fists involuntarily clenched into tight balls. 'You're just going to cause more trouble -' he began heatedly but he cut himself off and, with closed eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose sharply between two fingers. His lips were squeezed to lines as thin as Liam had ever seen them and he could tell his brother was biting his cheek in discomfiture. Paul drew a deep, calming breath before speaking again. 'Do you know what?' he asked resignedly, 'I give up.' He opened his eyes and held a hand up to Liam as though in a gesture of surrender. 'You refuse to see sense so why should I bother?'

'Why indeed?' asked Liam. He was helpless against the air of joviality which crept into his tone, especially when Paul's words felt like a small victory. 'Though I believe it is you, dear brother, who refuses to see sense,' he went on. 'I've yet to hear a decent excuse as to precisely why I cannot find happiness with Carla? I mean, what does monetary value matter in the grand scheme?' He ignored Paul's scathing look and went on. 'The fact is this: she is a woman and I am a man. She loves me and I love her and that should be the end of it.'

Paul was watching Liam with an expression which told his little brother he clearly thought he had taken leave of his senses. 'Ridiculous,' he muttered.

Liam gave him a lop-sided grin and nudged him in the ribs. 'You have to admit, she fits in well aesthetically.'

'That's hardly the point.'

'And I have enough money to support both of us.'

'What if mum and dad cut you off?'

'Their darling boy?' Liam asked with a false air of incredulity. He grinned at his brother. 'I'd get a job,' he answered seriously, 'like most people.'

Paul stared at him a moment, a deep crease appearing on his forehead. 'You're not serious?' he asked. 'You're still planning on running off with her, aren't you?'

Liam raised his brows and glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye, a thinly disguised look of blithe playing across his face, an enigmatic smile clinging to his lips. He said nothing.

They had reached the bow of the ship and had stopped at the head of the railings, aptly overlooking the decks of second and third class. Paul swept the lower of the two with scrutinizing eyes and upon seeing no sign of the offending girl, turned his back on both the passengers and the diminishing view and leant against the railing with a heavy sigh, using his elbows to prop him up.

The moon had risen while they'd walked. A full, circular disk, glowing in the deep blue of the sky which threatened to engulf the last lingering light of day. Soon it would be black as pitch.

Liam searched the lower decks far more thoroughly than his brother, eyes lingering on each and every face a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary to determine that it was not that of the girl he longed to see though a lone figure at the far end of the lower deck _did_ catch his eye. The figure was facing out towards the ocean, giving Liam no chance to examine its face but there was no need as it was clearly not Carla Donovan. The frame was large-backed and broad-shouldered, distinctly masculine. Black weathered trousers and tight braces over a crisp, white shirt, matching jacket slung carelessly over one arm, black hair dancing in the cold breeze. It was Carla's roommate, Tony Gordon. Of that, Liam was sure. He scrunched up his eyes, squinting at the figure, or what he could see of it in the dwindling light. The mans frame was rigid. His arms were straight, elbows locked, fingers gripping the railing with such fierceness that Liam was sure his knuckles must be a deathly shade of white. His shoulders were uptight and as Liam watched, he tossed his head back and stared up at the starless sky. Puffs of expiration, visible in the frosty air, emitted from his nostrils at every exhalation, telling of his deep, irregular breathing, as did the sharp heaving of his chest. He had the look of a man distressed.

'It's bloody baltic out here,' Paul spoke into the silence, 'and I'm starving. Shall we head indoors?' He turned his head to look at his brother. 'Liam?' he asked when he got no response.

'You go,' Liam said, eyes never leaving the darkening figure of the Scotsman. 'I'll catch up.'

Paul snorted. 'Yeah, right,' he said. 'Pull the other one. I'm going nowhere without you, kid.' He pushed himself up from the railing and turned so they were facing the same direction. 'What are you looking at?' he asked, noting with curiosity his brothers rigid stance and determined stare. He tried following his eyeline but there was nothing out of the ordinary below, nothing to his eyes anyway. He turned his puzzled gaze back on Liam.

'That man down there,' Liam nodded his head towards the furthest away part of the lower deck. Paul squinted through the deepening darkness, just about making out the silhouette of a man by the railings.

'What about him?'

'I'm not sure ...'

'You're not sure?' Paul gave a bemused laugh. 'Then why are we staring at him?'

At that moment, the man turned, confirming to Liam his identity.

'I think I know his face,' Paul said as he gazed down on the figure. His eyes had adjusted somewhat.

'You do,' Liam told him. 'That's Tony Gordon. He was down there that night we saw Carla, remember?'

'Vaguely.'

'He's her roommate.'

Paul was silent a moment. 'They allow men and women to share?' he said eventually. 'Surely that's just asking for trouble.'

'He's a strange bloke,' Liam went on as though his brother had not uttered a word.

'Strange how?'

Liam took a moment to mull over his answer, unsure how to put his thoughts into coherent words. 'Controlling,' he said slowly, deliberately. 'Posessive.'

Paul shot his brother a deriding look from the corner of his eye. 'Are we talking about Carla?' he asked.

The expression on Liam's face was the only answer Paul needed. He gave a sigh and turned his gaze back to the man below who chose that exact moment to raise his eyes to the heavens, his body tensing as he realised he was being watched. He squinted up at the two men looking at him, gaze hardening almost instantaneously as he recogized the taller of the two.

'I think we've been spotted,' Paul murmered at Liam's side.

As they watched, Tony Gordon's brief contemptuous expression changed. The tension slid away and he visibly relaxed, allowing a satisfied smile as he crossed the deck and leant nonchalantly against one of the ships giant cleats. His eyes never left Liam's as he pulled the jacket from his arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. He reached into the pockets, pulling a skillfully rolled cigarette from one and a small box of matches from the other. As he struck up, the smile widened to a point where it became almost deranged. His eyes glinted in the light from the cigarette and as he sucked on it, he raised a hand and gave the Connor's a little wave.

'He's up to something,' Liam said quietly.

Paul was watching the Scotsman, the distaste obvious on his face 'He looks like a prat,' he said.

'Oh, he is, believe me,' Liam told him. 'Carla's probably told him everything. That'll be why he's smiling.'

'He's got one of those faces you'd dearly love to punch,' Paul said. 'Smug and arrogant, look at him.'

Tony blew smoke from his nostrils and got to his feet. He crossed back to the railings, tossed his half-smoked cigarette over the edge and disappeared from view as he descended the iron-wrung staircase to E-deck.

'C'mon,' Paul said, pushing himself upright. 'It's too cold to be lingering tonight. Let's get indoors.' He gripped Liam's arm, just below the elbow, same as he had on the way out and gave it a tug.

'Yeah ...' Liam said. His eyes were on the staircase which had claimed Tony moments earlier. A deep crease had formed between them.

'Liam?'

'I'm coming.' His eyes swept the remaining passengers one last time. Their numbers had dwindled to a mere half-dozen, only the most foolhardy remaining outdoors in the plummeting temperature. One last glance to the empty staircase and he wrenched himself away, following his brother back to the inviting warmth of indoors though the adverse inkling of unease refused to remain behind. A niggling in the pit of his stomach ... but as he descended the grand staircase he quashed it, forcing it away. It was nothing, he told himself. He was just unsettled after seeing that man looking so smug, obviously believing he'd won. The girl was his now.

He had to learn to forget.

After all ... there was nothing he could do.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading :)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Thankyou so much for your lovely reviews, you have no idea how much they mean to me :)**

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><p><strong>April 14th 1912<strong>

Tony Gordon had always been a man in control of his emotions. A man in total control of himself. He had prided himself, from an early age, on his ability to keep a straight face even amidst the most comical or dramatic of happenings and as for concealing his true emotions - it was as natural to him as breathing though for the first time in his life ... the mask was slipping.

The excitement in the pit of his stomach was bubbling, sending nervous tremors up his spine and he felt barely able to contain his elation as he crossed the floor of the dining saloon of third class. They called it a saloon but really it was just a large room with plain white painted walls and three long tables stretching from end to end. Diners sat on benches while they ate and were hurried along when their plates were clear owing to the fact that the room could only accomodate half of the steerage population and so, for the lower class, mealtimes came in shifts.

There was already a queue of people by the door, waiting to be allowed entry when Tony exited the hall. More than one threw a ill-concealed glance of curiosity in his direction, plainly wondering what could make a lone man smile so widely and contently. He tipped his flat-cap to a young woman at the end of the line who blushed profusely, and whistled jovially to himself as he crossed the foyer, past the Turkish bath and swimmimg pool, both of which were manned every daylight hour by stoic guards who ensured access was granted only to first class ticket holders. Normally the sight of the stewards angered him with their constant reminder of his unfortunate placing in the class system but today he smiled merrily and touched his hat as he passed by. The guards did not react or return the gesture.

Through a door on the left and along the short corridor he went, stopping outside the cabin labelled F-59 and rummaging in his pocket for the key. He found the room vacant, as he knew it would be, and dropped down onto the bed, rummaging in his suitcase for a couple of granola bars he had stashed there last night after taking them from the dining hall. As he found what he was looking for and pushed himself upright again, he found his eyes drawn to the steel door and the wooden floor beneath it. He gave a deep sigh. He would really have to do something about that bloodstain ...

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><p>'Oi! What d'you think you're doing?' Paul exclaimed groggily as Liam threw the curtains open and stood back to allow the morning sunlight to infiltrate the room, casting her beams of light over Paul's face and rousing him sharply from his slumber.<p>

'Wakey, wakey, dear brother,' Liam called in annoyingly childish sing-song voice. 'Rise and shine, it's a beautiful morning and it's not often we see those back in old Britain so lets make the most of it while it lasts, eh?' He raised his arms over his head in a stretch.

'What time is it?' came Paul's muffled voice from behind his fingers as he gave an almighty yawn. He rubbed at his eyes and opened them slowly, squinting at his brother as he allowed them time to adjust.

'Just gone five.'

'Five o'clock in the morning?' A growl sounded from the back of Pauls throat and he threw Liam a scathing look as he rolled over, pulling the thick duvet up and over his head.

'Not a morning person, eh?' Liam grinned.

Paul grunted by way of reply. 'Hang on,' he said suddenly, throwing the blanket from him as he sat upright. 'How come you're dressed already?'

'I'm on a mission,' Liam stated seriously though his eyes gave lie to his tone. They danced merrily as he watched his brothers expression. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile.

'C'mon, Liam,' Paul said, not in the mood for games. It was barely at the crack of dawn in the morning after all. 'Where are you going at this time?'

Liam crossed the room in two quick strides and gripped the door handle before he replied.

'Hunting.' A wide grin overtook his face, stretching from ear to ear like a character in a cartoon. He pulled the door open and, with an enigmatic wink, disappeared from view.

'Hunting?' Paul repeated to himself, brows furrowing. His eyes bulged suddenly as realisation dawned and, uttering a word he would not have used infront of his mother, he leaped from the bed with an agility he certainly would not have capable of moments ago. 'Liam!'

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><p>Tony Gordon was on the move again. There was a tiny stairwell on the other side of the ship which lead down to G-deck, a predominantly third class floor. It was easy enough to get to, across the foyer, by the dining room and through the winding corridors of third class cabins. It was a quiet area, not many passengers being willing to spend the day in their tiny, gloomy little rooms and it had been easy negotiating his way with his unconscious roommate in his arms. The few people he had bumped into had been easily fobbed off with stories of whisky shots and double vodkas and the scarf tied in a loose knot around her head had covered the injury caused when she hit it on the door. G-deck had been even quieter than F and as Tony stepped through the door at the bottom of the stairwell, it was apparent why. The long corridor had a creepy feel to it, like that of a department store after hours when the lights are all off and the building deserted. More than once, Tony had stopped to glance behind him, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched, ridiculous as he knew it was. He crossed to the end of the corridor and pushed open an unmarked door, finding himself at the head of another staircase. He doubted whether any other passenger aboard the ship would have been clever or observant enough to find the entrance to the engine rooms given that the door he had just come through looked like any other cabin door but it had been pretty obvious to him given that it was unmarked. He had taken it upon himself to explore every nook and cranny of the ship available to him on the very first day after boarding and had taken all of ten minutes to find the entrance upon descending to G-deck.<p>

Like most other people, and not just passengers on the ship, he found the idea that something as momentous as _Titanic_ could float just mind-boggling and he had vowed before leaving Southampton to get a look or even just a glimpse of the enormous parts of machinery in all their glory, the most important parts of the ship, that very few people would ever set eyes on. It would be an honour to watch them at work

He had paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the rumble of the engines below him and, shifting the weight in his arms, thanked God his load was slender.

He paused about a third of the way along the G-deck corridor to gaze from one of the many portholes dotted along the walls. In this part of the ship he was just above the waterline and he stared down at the murky blackness of it as it lapped against _Titanic's _body in waves, creating an almost hypnotic effect. A shiver ran the length of his spine as he thought of all the workers on the deck below, spending their days effectively underwater. He admired their indifference, it was not a job he could do. The claustrophobia would be sure to creep up on him sooner or later.

The working day had long since commenced and the stairway down to the boiler rooms or the Orlop decks, as Tony had heard them referred to, was deserted and by his reckoning, would probably remain so until the day shift ended and so he felt no qualms whatsoever about bypassing the 'no passengers allowed' and 'authorised access only' signs on the far side of the door.

The noise down here was deafening. The engines roared tumultuously forcing an involuntary scrunching of Tony's face. He resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears as he slipped unnoticed down the stairs and doubled back behind them to the cargo hold.

It was remarkable how just one iron door could shut out so much sound, but it was considerably quieter on the other side. Tony made his way over to the back of the main room, weaving in and out of trunks, suitcases, furniture, paintings and even the odd car, where extra, smaller rooms were provided to accomodate an overflow of luggage. _Titanic_, being only three-quarters full had had no use for any of them on her maiden voyage but Tony had made use of one, storing his own precious cargo where he was one hundred percent sure nobody would find it.

He pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sound within and, hearing nothing, pulled the wooden chair from under the handle which he had used as a way to wedge the door shut which, as he had noticed on his first trip down, accomodated no lock and even if it did where would he ever find a key?

The girl was on the floor at the far end of the room, sitting on her heels by the wall as though she had slid down and refused to get back up. She held her head in her hands, lifting it slowly as the door opened. She watched as Tony entered the room and closed the door again behind him. He smiled at her in a sickeningly sympathetic manner and gave a deep sigh as she choked back the bile that rose to her throat. An acrid, acidic smell hung in the air and Tony saw she'd already vomited in the corner. A result of the trauma to her head no doubt. He surveyed her with cantankerous eyes, taking in her dishevelled hair hanging loose around her face, jet black against the white of the walls, pale skin, puffy red-rimmed eyes which were screwed up as she watched him, _probably in a lot of pain_, he thought with a twinge and worst of all, a streak of red protruding from under her hairline, running the length of her neck where it became one with her dress. The dried blood gave the image a certain horror he was quickly finding out he may be ill equipped to deal with as his own bile rose to the back of his throat in pure disgust at himself for causing her such harm. He swallowed it back down and took tentative steps towards her, not wanting to frighten her further.

'Hi, Carla,' he whispered as he approached. She offered no reply but neither did she rebuff him and so he crouched gingerly infront of her, probing her eyes with his own.

She stared at him a moment. 'Why?' she asked so quietly it was almost impossible to hear over the thrum of the engines and he felt his heart split in two at the agony in her voice.

'I don't know,' he told her truthfully. 'I just lost it ... I was so angry.' A single tear escaped and trickled down his face, dripping off his chin and landing on her knee. She stared at the spot it vanished, soaking into the fabric of her dress. 'I never meant to hurt you,' Tony went on. He craned his neck to get a look at the wound at the back of her head, raising his fingers to carefully shift her hair. She flinched but did not object. She was so lethargic, responses too slow to be functioning properly, Tony guessed she was dazed, possibly concussed and his brow creased in worry as he glanced back to her eyes, seeing them staring at the door, narrow and unseeing. He wondered how long she had been conscious.

He turned away to his bag, which he had carried from his cabin, dropped at his feet and pulled from it a bottle of water collected from the bar yesterday. As he twisted the cap off he fished out a wad of tissues and soaked them in the fresh water. He pressed the bundle to Carla's head, hearing a hiss of pain escape her lips but she did not pull away.

'Hold that there,' he told her gently and she obeyed while he soaked another load of tissues and used them this time to wipe at the dried blood on her neck. 'I'm so sorry, Carla,' he said. 'I can't tell you ...' He could scarcely believe that not half an hour ago he had been whistling merrily, elated beyond belief, believing himself to finally have the girl of his dreams when all the time she had been down here like this. The thought almost made him vomit.

Her eyes were following the half-empty water bottle as he cleaned her up and upon noticing, he placed it carefully in her hands, making sure she had a grip before letting go.

'Don't gulp it ...' he began but she had already finished the bottle in two swallows and was searching the bag with her eyes. He gave a chuckle and pulled another from its depths, twisting the cap off for her. She drank the second slower than the first but finished it all the same.

'Better?' he asked. She nodded slightly then winced, wishing she hadn't.

He pulled the granola bars from the bag and pulled one from its wrappings. 'Here,' he said, feeling another twinge of guilt. He had left her here alone with nothing to eat or drink since yesterday lunchtime after all. 'You must be hungry.'

She ate first one, then another and then another and was starting on her third bottle of water when Tony got to his feet.

'You're looking better,' he said approvingly.

She was feeling better too. Her wits were coming back to her, her senses returning and with them, a raging fury she knew would be impossible to contain...

* * *

><p>Liam had dug up the scruffiest shirt he could find which, by the Connor's standards, was not at all. It had been crisp and perfectly white if a little frayed around the edges. There had been a miniscule hole on one sleeve, unnoticable to the naked eye but after having the stitching around it picked at, had grown to the size of a one penny piece. Great creases criss-crossed the length of the garment after having spent the night in a crumpled heap on the cabin floor and black stains produced from the soles of Liam's shiny shoes lended to it an aura of lower class. The shoes themselves had been deliberately scuffed, no longer to show Liam his reflection when he held them up. All in all, it was a poor attempt at deception but he reckoned he might just get away with it at a stretch. A tailored dinner jacket hid the scruffy shirt until he found a way below decks because until he did, he was still a first class passenger, then he figured he could ditch it if need be, after all, there was plenty more where that one came from. One little jacket would not be missed.<p>

He made his way down to D-deck, moving stealthily although why, he wasn't quite sure. He was perfectly entitled to be up at this time and wandering this part of the ship ... so why did he feel like a naughty schoolboy, eyes searching swiftly from side to side for antagonized teachers waiting to pounce on him?

The door which lead to the promenade was manned, as it always seemed to be now, by a tired looking steward. Probably been stood there all night, Liam thought to himself. Poor beggar. He flashed the man a smile as he passed by which was returned wearily and for a fraction of a second, Liam was tempted to walk straight up to him and just ask for access beyond the door, see what the man said but decided against it. Laughed at the fact he had even entertained the notion ... as if it was that simple. The door wasn't being manned for nothing after all. Chances were, the steward was under strict instructions to alert his superiors if anybody tried to pass in which case, half the staff would be searching for him.

The doors to the dining saloon were firmly closed though the clinking of cutlery from the other side gave lie to its peaceful exterior. It was probably a hive of activity on the inside with waitors darting back and forth, setting places and polishing glasses, laying plates, shifting chairs and doing whatever else neeeded doing to ready the room for the first of the early morning diners.

Liam wove in and out of tables and tub armchairs as he made his way through the reception to a door on the left hand side, almost exactly opposite and identical to the one by which the guard stood though this one, he was entirely entitled to pass through. It gave access to another first class promenade though this one, being further down the ship, was protected by the upper decks making it far more weather proof than its counterpart four floors above.

He closed the door over behind him and breathed in a lungful of fresh, albeit salty, morning air, feeling the coldness sting at the back of his nose. He looked first to the left then swivelled his head to the right, staring along the deserted passage and realised for the first time, he had absolutely no idea where he was going.

It was during the night the thought had struck him, awakening him from a fitful, interrupted sleep, and he had sat bolt upright, excitement and shock coursing through him in equal measure along with irascibility that it had taken so long for him to remember.

Back in Manchester ... poring over the details of the ships layout with his father and brother ... wondering aloud as to the significance of the twin spiral stairways shown on D-deck which, as he now remembered, he had traced with his finger all the way down to the engine and boiler rooms. Presumably there would be a way up through the decks from there and if there wasn't ... well it was his best plan yet.

He had thrown the duvet from him and all but leapt from the bed, adrenaline pumping through every vein his body possessed and was already rummaging silently through his wardrobe to find his scruffiest looking shirt when it occured to him that it may be better to wait until morning rather than go stomping around the ships lower decks in the black of night and so he had thrown a shirt to the floor in the hope of sustaining one or two creases, tip-toed back to the bed and climbed in, wondering if he should wake Paul before he left and deciding he would, not just for the fun of it but so him and the others, presuming Paul would tell them, would know that he would not conform to their rules and regulations nor entertain their elaborate airs and multitudinous graces any longer.

He chose to head right on the logic that there was far more deck to explore that way and because he was pretty sure to go to the left would lead him either to a dead end or to the third class berth. As he walked he admired the sun, a great ball of flame rising with such majesty in the east and yet the bitter wind cut about his shoulders, keen as a knife.

It wasn't long until he met his first obstacle in the form of a barrier, marking where first class ended and second class began. It ran from floor to ceiling, barrier to wall, concealing each classes view of the other though a little door in the centre gave access between the two and with a quick glance around, Liam pushed it open and switched to second class. At the far end of the deck was a door, plain and simple, mahogany, boasting no embellishments and so definitely not leading to anywhere Liam would be permitted to go. He turned the handle and entered, found himself standing in a spacious, well lit room which looked too posh to be steerage but not posh enough to be first class. Four large ornate, intricately carved wooden pillars with a floral design around the base stretched from floor to ceiling, one in each corner as though holding the room in place. The walls were decorated with photographs and paintings of other White Star Line vessels. _Titanic's _sister ship, _Olympic_, which was also the company's flag ship, featured prominently in the paintings, as did the _Oceanic_ which Liam vaguely remembered seeing moored next to the ship that had broke free as they left Southampton, temporarily out of use due to the recent coal strike and the fact all of its fuel had been transferred to _Titanic_.

The grand windows seemed to be placed strategically so that no matter what position the sun was in, it's light was always filtering through, casting beams across the wooden floor and making the room seem larger than it was.

A clinking of cutlery, similiar to the noise from the dining saloon, sounded from behind a set of double doors. Both were closed over but one boasted the smallest of windows, the point of which, Liam could only guess but none the less, he crossed over to it and peered inside, curious as to how first and second class differed.

The room was a little smaller than the first class saloon but not by much and rather like the space he was currently standing in, seemed to be held up by four large pillars, one in each corner. Rectangular tables ran the length of the room in neat rows, each adorned with a starched white linen tablecloth and each accomodating eight wooden seats.

A young waitor approached the table closest to the door carrying a tray of cutlery and, as he did, brushed against a wooden chair which to Liam's surprise, swivelled around in a full three hundred and sixty degrees. He stifled a laugh as he realised all the chairs were the same and all bolted to the floor, imagined trying to dine in rocky conditions when the ship was swaying and passengers swivelling this way and that. He was willing to bet that sea-sickness was a common ailment in this room and wondered idly how far the nearest bathroom was. The waitor looked up suddenly and caught Liam's eye. For a second they stared at each other through the glass and then Liam's face disappeared as he backed away, the inclination to laugh leaving him as he remembered why he was down here and headed for a door in the far corner, chosen totally at random among the many others lining the room. Beyond it was a wide, high-ceilinged corridor with a dark-stained wooden floor polished to a shine and several glass doors on either side. This was the busiest part of the ship so far though it only seemed to be crew members about, some polishing the glass panels, others dragging heavy-looking boxes and wheeling containers in and out of the little rooms. A small group stood at the far side, deep in conversation and as one pushed a door open, a pretty tinkling of a bell sounded. Liam's jaw dropped as he realised he was standing in a sort of market place, each door giving access not to a suite but a shop. A wooden door at the far end opened as another member of the crew appeared and Liam got a quick glimpse of the first class dining saloon beyond which now appeared to be open for breakfast.

Though he was pretty sure the staircase he was searching for could not possibly be in this corridor, curiosity had gotten the better of him and he walked the length of it leisurely, turning his head all directions in absolute awe, trying not to miss anything. He passed a barbers with huge glass mirrors and swivel chairs not unlike the ones in the second class saloon, a bakers which smelt mouth-wateringly good, the aroma of fresh bread wafting through the air towards those beyond it's doors, a clothes shop which looked to cater for all classes though how a passenger from steerage was expected to get up to this corridor was anyones guess. Probably just for show, Liam thought and sure enough, the bulk of it's merchandise seemed to be aimed at first class ticket holders. Further along was a beauty salon, a souvenir shop and bizarrely enough, a butchers though why any passengers would actually visit that one was beyond Liam. As far as he was aware, self-catering was one thing the ship did not accomodate and who would want to buy their meat from a ship which had been four days without docking?

'Can I help you, sir?' a black-haired man approached, clad in a regulation White Star Line jacket.

'I'm just having a quick look,' Liam replied with a polite smile. The mans eyes were the exact colour of Carla's though his were round whereas hers were oval.

'An early riser I see,' the man said. He pulled a large golden pocket watch from his jacket and glanced at the hands. 'We don't normally see customers for another hour or two yet.'

'Well, like you said, early riser.' The man nodded in agreement. 'I had no idea all of this was down here!' Liam told him with incredulity.

The man smiled benignly. 'Didn't read the welcoming leaflets, sir?' he asked.

Liam thought about it for a moment. Remembered being given a pack full of leaflets and information upon boarding and having a vague recollection of throwing it down on the dresser after arriving at their room, not touching it since. He grimaced slightly and the man laughed a hearty laugh.

'Not to worry,' he said. 'You've found us now.' He smiled warmly as Liam peered around behind him. 'What's down there?' he asked, noticing a sharp turn at the end of the wide corridor. 'More shops?'

'No, sir. Round there's the ships medical unit and first and second class pantry.'

'Right,' Liam said, wondering who had decided to store the sick people next to the food. Probably the same person who also decided the ship was in need of a market place.

'Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?' the man asked.

'No, thankyou -' Liam began.

'How about a souvenir?'

'I don't think so -' but the White Star Line employee was already ushering him beyond the nearest glass fronted door.

'You must have some sort of keepsake,' the man was saying. 'This is _Titanic's _maiden voyage after all and you, sir, are lucky enough to be a part of it. This ship will go down in history, you mark my words,' he gave Liam a knowing smile and a stern nod of the head. 'Now ... something to show the grandkids?'

He crossed to a wooden cabinet, fronted with glass panels and pulled the door open, retrieving a tiny model of the ship on a porcelain stand with a little golden plaque across the bottom bearing the words 'Titanic 1912' in tiny black letters.

'I don't think -'

'Or how about this?' The assistant pulled a White Star Line cap from a top shelf and held it out with a grin while Liam stifled a laugh as he imagined his mothers face if he turned up for lunch wearing a sailors hat.

'Not for you, sir?' the man asked. He replaced the cap on the shelf and turned instead to a display of pendants showcased in a rectangular glass cabinet with a little white light shining on them to enhance their sparkle. 'How about a gift for a lady friend?'

Liam, who had been about to show the man a display of blatant rudeness by walking away, stopped mid-turn and peered at the cabinet.

'Would you like to see one out?' the man asked eagerly, seeing he had the gentlemans attention.

Liam stepped up to the glass for a closer look. There was an array of necklaces, some bold and horribly garish, others delicate and simple and lying beneath them, a line of silver bracelets.

'Can I see that one, please?' Liam pointed to a silver chain bearing a tiny pendant in the shape of a heart.

'An excellent choice, sir,' the man said. He pulled a giant set of keys from his pocket and thumbed through them one by one until he found the huge brass one he was looking for and slid it carefully into the lock. He pulled the silver chain from its royal blue cushion bed and placed it daintily in Liam's outstretched hand. Liam fingered it delicately, bringing it to his eyes for closer inspection. It was simple yet elegant and not in the least bit garish. Liam could already picture it fastened around Carla's neck, matching beautifully with her midnight dress.

'Is this real silver?' he asked.

'It is that, sir,' the man replied.

'How much?'

'Usually, ten shillings but for you, sir, I'll take seven.'

'Six shillings,' Liam bartered.

'Six and six pence.'

'Done.' He held out his hand for the salesman to shake, which he did enthustically, then dug into his trouser pocket for the leather wallet which he kept on him at all times, pulling from that the correct change.

'Pleasure doing business with you, sir,' the man said as he handed over the necklace, wrapped in white tissue paper and placed carefully in a brown paper bag.

Watching the mans friendly green eyes, Liam was tempted to ask him if he knew where he could find the staircase down to the engine rooms but that was definitely far too risky a strategy and so, with a final handshake, he departed and walked the length of the corridor keeping his head down so as to not be accosted by any other overly keen salespeople. The space outside the second class saloon was busier than previously, the doors to the saloon itself having now been opened. He stopped a lone passenger before he could enter the dining room and asked if he had the time on him. Just past six was the answer. That meant he'd wasted an hour already and was no further along on his 'mission'. He could have kicked himself for allowing the shop owner to distract him but the thought of the beautiful silver necklace in his wallet consoled him, he just hoped the woman it was bought for would like it as much.

Through the door on the opposite wall and Liam found himself standing outside again. The sun had risen fully now but the temperature had dropped if anything and Liam felt glad he'd worn his heavy jacket over the scruffy shirt. He pulled it around him, crossing his arms over his torso in an attempt to hold as much body heat in as was possible and walked a few uncertain steps to the right before turning and staring down the promenade to the left. The damn ship was so bloody big it was impossible to know where to start looking and he was starting to feel that familiar hopeless despair. He glanced to the right again and had almost decided to carry on that way when a voice called his name, no mistaking the urgency of the tone. Paul was jogging down the promenade towards him with one hand in the air as though trying to grab his brothers attention. His face was red and beads of sweat were visible even from the distance at which Liam was standing. His breaths were coming in hasty, ragged bursts.

Heart in his mouth and decision well and truly made, Liam darted back through the door from which he had come and bolted for the only other door he knew would not lead to a dead end, straight out to the second class promenade on the other side of the ship. He slammed it shut behind him, throwing a hasty glance to the right before taking off down towards the barrier of first class, all the while, ignoring the shouts and cries from behind him. First class was busier than he'd expect for six o'clock in the morning but he took no heed, darting around human obstacles while they stared with gaping mouths and it suddenly occured to him that this was becoming something of a regular occurence for the Connor boys.

There was a door up ahead on the left which Liam was sure would give access to no room he knew of. The 'no entry' plaque was visible from ten feet away but rather than remain behind to let his interfering brother catch up with him, he grasped the handle and shoved the door with all his might, slamming it behind him and leaning his back against the cool wood, closing his eyes and listening for the sound of pounding footsteps over the thumping of his heart. He could hear his brothers muffled voice on the other side, asking fellow passengers for directions but either they hadn't seen or weren't telling. Whichever it was, Liam was grateful. He stifled a laugh as he heard Paul curse loudly followed by a dull thump as though he had punched the wall.

After a second, all became quiet and Liam, having calmed his breathing, opened his eyes and allowed them a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. What he saw when they finally did almost made him leap into the air in ecstasy as, lying before him, were two sets of spiral stairways, both made of iron and both descending deep into the bowels of the ship.

Through the excitement, it was with some trepidation that he stood at the top of the nearest one and looked down through the floors. The bottom of the stairwell was not visible in the gloominess, it just seemed to descend into nothingness, the sight of which sent shivers up Liam's spine and lent to him a horrible feeling of foreboding. The silence was somewhat eerie, broken only by the rhythmic clunking of the engines far below and if he had had a choice, Liam knew he'd be out of there like a rat up a drainpipe but he suppressed the shivering in his spine and with a deep breath, began to descend ...

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><p><strong>thankyou so much for reading<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Thankyou very kindly to each lovely person who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate you all so much, I can't tell you. **

**I can only apologise for the length of this one. I seem to get it in my head where I want the chapter to end and then ramble on and on until I get there. If you make it to the bottom then well done in advance :)**

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><p>Paul doubled back on himself and retreated to the door which he knew gave access to the first class reception. He had bypassed it without a thought earlier on the basis that, as it was standing open, he would have seen if his brother had turned in and would certainly not have missed him leaping up the grand staircase, reminiscent of a tall, gangly grass-hopper but now, after seeing the ships bow empty of passengers, doubts were starting to creep in, plaguing his mind, making their presence known, and he had turned back.<p>

'I beg your pardon,' he said to the baby-faced guard manning the door opposite. 'Have you seen a young gentleman enter through here?' he gestured to the door behind him through which he himself had just entered. The guard shook his head.

'About five foot nine; slim build; black hair?'

'Sorry, sir.'

Paul allowed his hand to drop back to his side from where it had been measuring out Liam's height. He gave a heavy sigh and turned away, feeling frustrated and helpless.

'Although ...'

Paul turned back, almost cricking his neck as he did. 'Yes?' he asked eagerly.

'I believe I did see a gentleman of that description dart _past _the door. He never entered.'

'_Past_ the door?' Paul repeated, 'Are you sure? I went all the way along and there was no one there.'

'Quite sure, sir. You tend to notice things like that when your job is to stand still and do precisely nothing for eight hours. I pray every morning for a little excitement to pass the time.'

'Hmm,' Paul said by way of reply. 'Is there anywhere he could have gone? Anywhere that I missed?'

'I don't believe so, sir. Out there's pretty much a deadend. Only one door which will take you straight down to the boiler rooms but I can't see any reason your man would want down there.'

'Hmm,' Paul said again. He could think of a reason. A five foot four reason with long black hair. He pursed his lips. 'Thankyou,' he said to the steward. 'If you see the gentleman again could you inform him that his brother is searching for him?'

'Will do, sir,' and the man went back to staring at the wall opposite.

Paul however, crossed back to the doorway and took a left turn, retracing his steps to the end of the promenade, speaking quietly to himself as he walked. 'Now where was that door ...?'

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><p>All night she had been left to stare at that lone lightbulb. It dangled from the ceiling on a single wire, no lamp shade. No need for embellishments down here. Several times she had dozed off only to startle awake, her stomach churning in panic. But panic cannot be sustained and as the hours passed, no amount of struggling, pushing or shoving would force the door to give way and her body had seemed to shut down into a state of suspended animation. She had retreated to the back wall where she had slid to her heels and she had hovered there, head in hands, somewhere between denial and reality, her mind focussed with exquisite concentration on her craving for water.<p>

It was in this position she had stayed until footsteps had creaked outside and something scraped against the door, only just audible over the constant rumble of the engines. Her head, though heavily thumping out a rhythm with her heart, had risen and it was with a certain irony that she actually felt pleased to see her captor.

That was half an hour ago. Now, revived and revitalised, she was on her feet, albeit a little shakily, demanding her immediate release while he hovered by the door and made excuses as to why he could not allow her to leave.

'Think of the trouble this would cause,' he said in his quiet Scottish accent. 'They'd lock me up.'

'As they should,' she retorted angrily. 'What sort of a man are you?'

He fixed her with a tearful stare. 'A desperate one,' he answered in a small voice.

Carla rolled her eyes at his tone, muttering the word 'pathetic' under her breath. She brought her hands to her hips, face the picture of contempt.

'Are you really _this_ desperate though?' she asked. Her eyes, glittering like gems, narrowed as she glared at him, scornfully taking him in from the top of his head right down to the tips of his shoes. 'So desperate, that the only way you can get a woman is to knock her out and lock her up?'

'I didn't mean to -'

'You're not a man,' she said, shaking her head derisively. 'You don't deserve that title.'

'Hear me out, Carla,' he pleaded. She noticed suddenly that one of his eyes seemed to bulge larger than the other and for a second she stared, caught off guard. It only served to complete his unhinged look. 'Let me explain why I did this.'

'I know why you did it,' she told him. 'You're a control freak and you always have to have your own way.' He shook his head at her words. 'I didn't conform to your wishes willingly ...' She smiled somberly and spread her hands out before her, '...and so you took me anyway.'

'I was scared,' he said tearfully.

'Well I've got news for you, Tony,' she told him loudly. 'I'm scared now.'

The silence that fell between them was deafening. It pressed in on all sides as he stared at her and she glared right back.

'This is the story of my life,' he said. 'I lose my temper, do something rash and regret it later.'

'How d'you mean?' Carla asked, disdain dripping from her words. 'Who else do you have locked up?'

He shook his head and looked to the floor. 'Nobody.'

She read the word on his lips, rather than heard it.

'Then what else have you done?'

He hesitated, surveying her cautiously then with a dip of the head and a quiet sigh, seemed to decide she was worthy of whatever he had to say. 'The reason I'm travelling to America,' he said slowly, 'is to start a new life ... because ...'

'Because what?' Carla asked accusingly. Her eyes were narrowed in quiet fury.

'Because ...' he cast his gaze around the room and shifted uncomfortably, trying, unsuccessfully, to blink his tears away. '... I killed a man,' he mumbled. He pulled his eyes from the floor where they had landed and fixed them uncertainly on her. He waited for a reaction with trepidation. His heart had leapt suddenly to his mouth and for a few seconds he wondered if he might vomit. 'Accidently, of course,' he added quietly.

Her eyes widened slowly as she released a long hissing breath. Her fury fell away to be replaced with revulsion and alarm along with a growing disgust. Her brows almost disappeared under her hairline. Hands fell to her sides as she rocked back on her heels. 'Killed a man?' she repeated faintly.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, frightened-looking, glittery black eyes never leaving hers.

'How?'

'I didn't mean to,' Tony jumped to defend himself. 'It just ... ' his breathing hitched and he stopped to draw a long breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. 'It just happened.' His whole body seemed to shrink an inch or two as his shoulders hunched forward. He dropped his face to his hands, resigning himself to some form of explanation. 'Short version?' he asked and went on without waiting for an answer. 'I was seeing this girl, had asked her to marry me. Not long before the wedding I found out she was cheating with some other bloke and when I found out I was ...' He stopped and drew another great shuddering breath. ' I was absolutely livid and so, like a bull to a red rag, I went after him and ...'

'And what?' Carla asked quietly, surprised to find her voice still working normally.

'I never meant to get in a scuffle but he was goading me about losing her ... and I shoved him, hard as I could. I only wanted him away from me. He hit the wall, smacked his head against it. Hard. Really hard.' His voice lowered until it was barely audible. His breath was coming in gasps. 'He was dead by the time he hit the floor.' Tony allowed his head to sink into his palms, his body convulsing as he sobbed openly. 'I still hear the sound ...'

Carla was silent a moment. She rocked back and forth on her heels, one hand on her hip, the other tracing the outline of her lips. The tip of her nose had turned pink, contrasting with the white of her face and without seeming to realise what she was doing, she moved her hand from her mouth and ran her fingers over the back of her own head, wincing a little at the resulting sting. 'Like you did to me,' she asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes glistening. He made a move as though to step towards her but she moved back and fixed him with a warning glare. He slumped back against the doorframe.

'Carla, when I saw what I'd done to you ... when you fell to the floor ...' His forehead was shaded with a heavy cloud, his lashes wet as tears streamed from his eyes. 'I thought you were dead.' His lips sealed together in an expression of unspeakable sadness.

She inhaled a deep breath into her lungs and reached around to pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes closed as she tried to understand. Tried to put herself in his shoes. 'Why didn't you get help?' she asked eventually. 'Why bring me here?'

'Because the police are still searching for me in England. My fiance - that is, ex-fiance - found her lovers body and alerted the authorities. It must have been pretty obvious it was me, especially as I did a disappearing act immediately after and since I've been confined on this ship, I've managed to heighten my paranoia to a whole new level. Everytime someone looks at me my heart flutters, when people speak to me I wonder what's really going through their heads.' He fixed her with a stare so piercing she thought it a wonder he could not simply see straight through her. 'Everybody is an undercover cop,' he said resolutely, desperate to make her understand. 'All this time I've just been waiting for someone to pounce.' He wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand and pushed himself from the wall. 'Carla, You have no idea what it's been like. If I had gotten you help and was recognised ... found in the same circumstances ... they'd probably hang me.'

She squeezed her nose harder for a second, screwing her eyes up against the pressure, the tips of her fingers turning white. Then she let go, opened her eyes. 'It's no more than you'd deserve,' she whispered.

'That's why I can't let you go until we dock,' Tony said. 'It's not long now, only a few more days.' He spoke in the tone of a parent reassuring an unsettled child.

Carla allowed an incredulous laugh to escape her lips. She pressed the palm of a hand to her temple for a moment, hoping to ease the throbbing somewhat. 'A few more days?' she asked sarcastically, her normal temperament beginning to return. 'Is that all?'

Tony shifted uncomfortably.

'And what am I supposed to do for 'a few more days', hmm?' Her voice had risen to match the thrum of the engines. 'Sit tight and hope you don't accidently murder me?'

'Just go along with this and you'll be fine.' He held a pacifying hand out towards her. 'I know I've well and truly blown any chance I may have had with you -'

'You never had a chance.'

' - but just do this one thing for me, please. And I promise you, you'll never see me again.'

She licked her lips nervously, blinked several times in quick succession. 'Let me go ...,' she said slowly, '... and I won't tell anyone.' He shook his head. 'You have my word.'

When he spoke, his tone was gentle, full of sorrow. 'I can't trust that, I'm afraid.'

'Yes you can,' Carla said firmly. Her eyes gazed unwaveringly into his, wide and genuine. 'I'll not tell a soul.'

'No.' He slumped back against the wall, face crumpling. 'Please try to understand, Carla. It's too risky for me.'

'And keeping me down here is full proof, is it?' she asked. 'Tony ...' she took a deep breath and steeled herself, closed the gap between them in a few small steps, reaching out tentatively to touch his arm, both of which were crossed firmly over his chest. When she spoke her voice was gentle. 'If you loved me like you say you do, you'd let me go.'

'I do love you.'

She shook her head slowly from side to side, gazing up at him with eyes which glistened, reflecting the light from the lone bulb. She smiled a humourless smile. 'How can you when you're holding me prisoner?' she asked.

He lowered his eyes to the dainty little hand on his elbow. 'It's only for a few days,' he said softly. He uncrossed his arms and reached for her fingers.

She considered letting him take them but the thought of any sort of intimacy with this man quietly disgusted her and she pulled away, taking a step back. Her eyes hardened. 'I'll scream,' she said threateningly, all acts of tenderness forgotten. 'There must be hundreds of workers out there,' she raised a hand sharply and gestured beyond the door, looking back at him, eyes full of a fire they were vacant of seconds ago. 'Someone will hear.'

'Nobody will hear,' Tony told her. 'It's deafening out there, they have to shout to each other to be heard and there's a whole room between you and them.'

'Somebody will find me eventually,' she said obstinately. She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. Did her best to force the rising tears back to their source.

'Only after we're in New York and I'm long gone.'

'Liam will search for me - '

'Connor?' Tony asked, eyes wide with amusement. 'Don't make me laugh, he doesn't care for you,' he said callously. 'I thought we'de already established that.'

'You're wrong.'

'He's probably sitting up there now,' he jabbed a thumb towards the ceiling. 'Eating his kippers, drinking expensive tea, probably wondering if he can afford a boat this size to take his beloved Maria sailing when they get home ... not a care in the world.'

'When I don't disembark in New York he'll come looking.' Her voice was starting to shake. Her throat felt constricted.

'He'll be too busy with his family and his new fancy woman to notice you. And in any case, I'll be long gone by then.' He smiled as pushed himself from the doorframe and took an advancing step towards her. 'No friends ... no family ... no roommates to alert the staff.' He grinned maliciously though wondered idly of the subtle irony of the situation. The control this woman had over _him_. Making him love her one minute and despise her the next. She was like nobody he had ever met before. 'Nobody will miss you, darling,' he whispered and her face crumpled.

It came then: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over her. The whole consciousness of her life lorn, love lost, hope quenched swayed full and mighty above her in one sullen mass. That bitter moment cannot be described. Her sorrow rose and she wept stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears, all dignity swept to one side.

Tony watched as she dropped her head to her hands, entire body shaking with such violent sobs it seemed only inevitable that her legs would soon fail to hold her upright and she would crumple. Her convulsions provoked his own tears: he wept wildly but did not approach.

'I'm sorry,' he said. Over and over again as though he could never say it enough. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm sorry too,' she managed between choking sobs. 'Sorry I ever boarded this damn ship ... sorry I was forced into living with a stranger ...' Her tone hardened, eyes narrowing. ' ...sorry I ever layed eyes on you,' And with an agility he never saw coming, she sprang and was on top of him before he had time to react. He let out a strangled yell as they toppled to the floor, trying desperately to get a hold of her wrists. She clawed angrily at his face, leaving bloody imprints from her nails and as he tried to get a grip on her fingers, slippery with blood, her fist slammed into the side of his face and she heard bone crack, his or hers she didn't know.

For a fraction of a second, they stared at each other, stunned into silence and then, releasing a panicked breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding, Carla was on her feet, dashing for the door, silently thanking God that it had no lock.

She slammed it shut behind her and stood staring around the cargo hold, heart thrumming ten to the dozen, adrenaline the only thing keeping her on her feet. The noise of the engines was louder out here though not loud enough to hide the scraping of the door handle as it was thrusted down from the other side, the door flung open just as Carla spotted the only exit route at the opposite side of the room.

Tony dived for her, crashing through two suitcases and a priceless work of art as he grabbed at her ankle, bringing her down with a scream, knocking the air from her lungs. One hard kick, a cry of pain from behind, and her ankle was free. She was on her feet in under a second, gasping for breath, ignoring the pain in her side as she dodged an overly fancy car. She had once dreamt of owning a vehicle like this, long before reality had caught up with her. It was finished in red and polished to such a shine that Tony's reflection was clearly visible, hauling himself to his feet just behind her, an expression of absolute madness on his face. As she ran, she watched his arm raise above his head, something clutched in his hand, and threw herself to the right, landing on a pile of labelled luggage just as something small and metallic sailed past her head, hitting the wall opposite and thudding to the floor, leaving a large dent where it had made contact. She was on her feet once again, breathing loudly and raggedly, but Tony had gained on her while she was dodging makeshift missiles and with a guttural grunt, launched himself toward her, grabbing at the material of her dress from behind, clutching it tightly in his fist as she gave a yell and tugged hard, using her weight to free herself.

With a loud rip the fabric gave way and tore a hole right across her lower back. She lurched forwards as he was forced to let go but saved herself another fall with quick footing and wasted no time in running for the door.

'No you don't!' Tony roared over the thrumming of the engine and for a final time, launched his body through the air towards her, gaining a type of purchase of her loose flying hair and with a keening shriek from her, they once again toppled to the floor.

Tony knew he had won before he had even managed to clamber on top of her. He could almost feel the energy draining from her, as though someone had switched on a tap and with only three granola bars inside her, it was hardly a wonder. His earlier guilt over not visiting her sooner vanished as he found himself grateful for her weakness.

She was trying to sit up, trying to push him off, screaming with any energy she could muster, but he held her tight. Sitting on her thighs, pinning her hands to the floor with his knees and gripping her upper arms tightly as he took a moment to regain his breath, the widest of grins spreading across his damp, red face.

'Good try, sweetheart,' he said between gasps. 'But not good enough, I'm afraid.'

There was nothing she could do. Not that it stopped her trying. Hands, then arms, head and legs. Tugging and twisting and pulling until exhaustion got the better of her again. One last effort, one massive buck, back arched, a hiss escaping her clenched teeth and then she sank back to the floor. Silent and defeated. She closed her eyes so he wouldn't see the tears threatening to rise, heard him laugh with a callous relief, the pressure lessening on one arm and that's when something slammed into her temple, a blow so brutal she saw bright flashes of light even through her closed eyelids. And then she blacked out.

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><p>Far above him, the door opened. A tiny pin prick of light shone momentarily against the engulfing blackness and then it vanished as the door clicked back into place. He stood absolutely still, heart thumping loudly, daring not to even take a breath.<p>

'Liam?' a voice called from far above and Liam's shoulders sagged. He released the breath and raised a hand, running his fingers through his messy hair. 'Liam, is that you?' He chose not to respond. Perhaps Paul could not yet see him. He remembered the blackness so absolute when he threw himself behind the door, eyes needing time to adjust. 'I'm coming down,' his brothers voice called and Liam heard the clunk of a shoe against iron. He drew a deep breath, trying not to clench his fists in vexation and raised his eyes to the ceiling. What had he done to have been cursed with so interfering a brother?

'Don't do that,' Liam said through gritted teeth. The footsteps stopped.

'I knew you'd be down there,' Paul said, something like triumph edging into his voice.

'Good for you,' Liam retorted.

'Yes ... that nice steward on D-deck told me he'd seen you and after I found out that this door leads down to the bottom of the ship it was pretty obvious where you'd gone.'

'Why can't you just keep your nose out, Paul?' Liam exclaimed. The footsteps had recommenced, moving closer and closer as Paul twisted round the spiral stairs.

'Because you're my little brother, it's my job to protect you.'

'Not because you're scared of what dad would say when he learnt you'd lost me?'

'Well ... I must admit, there was an element of that ... but I really don't want to see you hurt, Liam. Why can't you just leave the girl in peace?'

'Because I love her,' Liam stated. He started on down the stairs himself before Paul caught up to him and tried preventing him from taking another step. 'And ever since we saw Gordon smirking at us on the deck last night I've had the most horrible feeling that something's amiss.'

Paul rolled his eyes though the gesture was futile in such darkness. 'And what if we find her and she's okay, moved on.'

Liam hesitated before answering. The thought had occured. 'If that be the case than I'll return to first class and leave her be,' he said, although he wasn't entirely sure if he set eyes on her he'd have the strength to let go. Especially if she had fallen into Gordon's arms. 'And what's this 'we' business?' he asked his brother haughtily. '_You_ have nothing to do with this. You shouldn't even be here.'

'Neither should you,' Paul told him. Liam could tell from the proximity of the voice that he wasn't far behind. He quickened his own step. 'Anyway, we're in this together now. I'm not going back up there alone.'

Liam bit his tongue against a response, listening to the rumbling below growing louder and louder and just as he was thinking he must be getting close, the steps stopped and a door materialised some six feet infront.

'Any idea how we're going to slip past the workers unnoticed?' Paul asked.

'None whatsoever.'

'We don't know how big it is out there. Maybe we could keep to the shadows.'

'I think that's going to be our best bet,' Liam said. 'Plan B: we run.'

'Got it.'

'Ready?' Liam asked. He crossed to the door and took a hold of the handle. There was no lock. Paul followed on his heel. He peered over Liam's shoulder as he opened the door a crack but it was almost as dark in there as it was in the stairwell.

Liam turned and gave a shrug. 'Let's go,' he said with uncertainty.

He apprehensively eased himself through the door, opening it just enough to slip through and no more. Paul followed suit and both raised their hands to their ears. It was difficult to believe, standing next to the engines, that this racket was barely audible on the floors above.

There did not appear to be any company so far as Liam glanced around. The room they had entered was about the same size as their suite up on A-deck and with no light, was hard to see which direction they should be headed.

'C'mon,' Paul shouted, taking charge. 'Follow me.' He stepped around Liam and started to walk slowly around the perimeter of the room, screwing his face up and feeling every inch of the wall with his fingers until eventually he found a wooden slat protruding from it's smooth surface, closer examination of which proved it to be a doorframe. This door, once again, boasted no lock, just a metal handle wrapped in heat-proof plastic which was just as well, Paul thought as he gripped it. The plastic was hot but not uncomfortably so. Not nearly as uncomfortable as if the plastic hadn't have been there.

'I think this is it,' he called to his brother over the din.

Liam just nodded in response and gestured for him to get on with it. He pulled the door open a crack and a burst of heat all but singed the eyebrows from his face.

'Wow!' he exclaimed, taking a step back and almost trodding on Liam's toes. Steeling himself against the temperature, Liam bypassed his brother and was once again the first to cross the threshold.

This space, in comparison with the little black room they had just vacated, was massive. It just went on and on, further than the eye could see, each side lined with enormous furnaces contributing to the extreme heat, each one glowing a hot white light and unfortunately for the boys, each surrounded by a horde of workers shovelling coal into an open space down the bottom, fiddling with knobs, monitoring gauges. For a second, Paul and Liam stood and watched, perfectly illuminated by the bright, firey light. Then:

'Oi!' both turned in unison to the left where a hefty looking man, muscular but flabby around the middle was striding towards them. He was blackened from head to toe in soot but that did not disguise the look of displeasure on his face, hands thrown up in the air in clear animosity. 'What the bloody 'ell are passengers doin down 'ere?' he roared above the noise of the engines and of the workers. Some had already turned to stare, mainy surveying the men in suits with ill-disguised hostility.

Paul leant his head closer to Liam's, eyes never leaving the bulk of the man heading their way. 'What do we do?' he said as quiet as he could as to still be audible.

'Erm ... ' Liam swivelled his head to the side, wondering as to their chances of making it to the other end unscathed. 'Resort to plan B?' he asked.

'Go!' Paul yelled, pushing his little brother hard between the shoulder blades and they took off, running like they'd never ran before. One or two of the workers tried to stop them but most were happy to just stand and watch with amusement. Paul was reminded forcibly of the steward up on D-deck who had told him he prayed for excitement every morning to break the monotony of a long shift and realised he must not be the only one unhappy in his work.

Unaware if they were being pursued or not, Paul turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse behind him and ran straight into something large and solid. He gave a cry of shock as he bounced off the object but the whatever it was caught the front of his shirt before he could hit the floor. He got a quick glance of a tall man, muscular like the first but not as loose around the middle and then he heard a grunt and the thud of flesh meeting flesh and the grip was released.

Paul was back on his feet as quickly as he'd hit the ground, turning to see Liam standing over the worker, fist raised, looking stunned. The man was lying at his feet, writhing in pain, hands covering his nose which was spurting blood all down his front.

'Come on,' he said and he gripped Liam's arm and gave it a tug. The pair set off again though not so quickly, knowing now that they were not being pursued. Some employees did turn to stare as they jogged past but none approached. One even tipped his cap and flashed them a wide grin, showing white teeth, glaring brightly against his blackened face.

'That was brilliant,' Paul snorted. He looked sideways at his brother who looked as though he was trying not to laugh. 'Who knew you had it in you?'

'Do you remember what dad used to say to us when we were little?' Liam yelled, feeling oddly elated.

'Nobody messes with the Connor boys and comes off the better,' Paul said and they both laughed at the truth in the words spoken in jest. 'Any idea where we're going now?'

'Can't be much further,' Liam called. 'We must have ran the length of the ship already.

They passed by the last of the furnaces where a little man dressed in clothes which could never be worn above decks stopped to stare open-mouthed, his load of coal fell from the shovel but he didn't seem to realise as he tossed it in anyway.

Now they were descending into the gloom yet again though the darkness was not as black as that which they had left behind. The glowing from the fires saw to that.

'There!' Paul shouted as a staircase materialised up ahead. They made a dash for it, Liam reaching the bottom step first.

'What do you think's through there?' he called back to his brother, noticing another door just behind the stairs.

'Cargo hold, I think,' was the response he got.

Paul urged him on and they both climbed, twisting round and round until a door blocked their way. Liam thrust down the handle and pushed and both boys fell through into the light and airy cleanliness of G-deck. Paul mustered the energy to slam the door shut behind them while Liam sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

Paul joined him a second later, wheezing as he coughed soot from his lungs. He fixed his brother with a steely glare though the curling of his lips gave lie to any anger he tried to show. 'The things I do for you, Liam Connor ...'

* * *

><p>When Carla surfaced back to consciousness, her face was throbbing and she could not see out her right eye. She lifted her head from her chest where it had dropped and blinked three times, squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them. Her muscles felt like stone. Tight. Brittle. Her arms hurt and when she tried to move she felt spasms shoot across her took her a moment to comprehend her hands were tied behind her back.<p>

'I'm sorry I had to do that,' said a voice from behind.

She twisted her head around to see the face of her tormentor and immediately wished she hadn't as a bolt of pain screamed from the top of her skull, down through her shoulders. She tried not to wince.

'I couldn't see any other way, you see. Can't risk you running again.'

She turned again, slower this time. Tony Gordon was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, knees raised infront of him. His eyes, trained on a point some three feet to her right, were puffy and red-rimmed as though he'd shed more than a few tears. His voice was thick with emotion. In any other circumstances she may have felt sorry for him. He didn't seem to be in the mood to chat and so she used the time to get her bearings.

She was sitting on a high-backed wooden chair, dark in colour and polished to a shine. It looked pricey, not something she'd expect to find in steerage. She wondered idly which passenger would be disembarking with one less piece of furniture. Her fingers groped behind her at wooden slats, feeling the rope he had used to tie her to the chair. It was wound around more than one of them, incorporating her slight wrists into the tricky knot, tied so tightly she felt sure she was already bruised. Her ankles were bound in much the same way to the chairs legs and no amount of kicking would free her. Useless. She was well and truly trussed.

A creaking behind her informed her that Tony was on his feet. She heard his footsteps as he crossed the room, heard him rummaging in the satchel he had dumped on the floor and tensed as he moved towards her, unable to see what he was up to with her bad eye. Something cold brushed against her face and she sucked a frightened breath in through clenched teeth. A sloshing sound, the smell of plastic. He placed a hand on her forehead and gently tilted it back, recieving a grunt and a withered stare for his efforts. Water flowed down her throat. It helped a bit, brought her back to herself somewhat but then she wondered if that might not be a bad thing. Perhaps to remain hovering somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness is the best place for her until he sees fit to release her.

He pulled the bottle away and stepped infront of her, gazing down with cantankerous eyes. She blinked again and shook her head a little, trying to clear her vision as she looked up at him, staring at the dried blood on his face. _His_ blood, she realised with a feral sense of satisfaction as the memory of the scuffle returned. She had left her mark with her nails. _A permanent reminder of me_, she thought hopefully and, to his chagrin, allowed a smirk to creep across her lips.

* * *

><p>'Hadn't we better get going?' Paul asked. He was still slouched on the floor of the corridor next to Liam. 'Mum and dad must be wondering where we are.'<p>

'Let them wonder,' Liam replied. 'This is their fault anyway. If they weren't so bloody minded we wouldn't be in this position now.'

Paul puffed a breath of air from his lips. He couldn't argue with that.

'Have to admit though,' Liam went on. He turned to look at Paul, a smile on his lips, eyes sparkling. 'This has all been quite exciting.' Paul fixed him a sceptical stare. 'It beats posh breakfast with the snobs any day of the week.'

Paul couldn't help but laugh. Despite his reservations, he was starting to enjoy himself.

'Come on then,' Liam sighed as he pushed himself to his feet. He held a hand out to his brother but Paul was too busy staring at the space Liam had just vacated to take it.

'Erm ...' He glanced up at Liam then back to the wall, a faint smile playing on his lips. Liam followed his eyeline and allowed a snort of laughter as he saw his own sillhouette etched onto the white wall with black soot. Paul stood up of his own accord and turned to look at his own masterpiece.

'Well at least we've made our mark,' he said. He gave his face a rub but far from ridding it of soot, he merely smudged it making it, if anything, worse.

Liam snorted again as he watched and made a mental note, not to do the same to his own face.

'What you laughing at?' Paul asked.

'Nothing,' Liam chuckled 'Come on,' he said as Paul protested. 'Let's get out of here before someone catches us.' He had only taken a few steps when Paul's voice stopped him in his tracks.

'Look at this,' he said. He was still standing where Liam had left him but was gazing from one of the tiny portholes spaced evenly along the corridors wall.

'What is it?' he asked impatiently but he moved back to his brothers side all the same and peered from the neighbouring window. For a second, they both stood, watching the water lapping up against the great ships body mere feet below them.

'That's kind of creepy, don't you think?'

'Mmm,' Liam replied, finding the movement of the water strangely hypnotic.

'I wonder how cold it is.'

'Let's hope we never have to find out, eh?' He grabbed Paul's arm and pulled him away and together, they made their way along the corridor and up the stairs at the end to F-deck.

'I hope you know where we are,' Paul said as they emerged into yet another corridor of cabins.

'Course I do,' Liam told him confidently though he had no idea himself. It was not Carla's corridor, of that he was sure. 'We're on F-deck.' He flashed his brother a winning smile and was rewarded with an exasperated stare. 'She's cabin F-59, this one here's F-06 so we can't be close ... anyway, I think we're at the wrong end of the ship. When I came down from D-deck I'd walk the length of the promenade only to double back on myself once inside.'

'Well what we waiting for?' Paul asked, leading the way towards a door at the far end of the corridor. 'The sooner we find her the sooner I can have breakfast.'

They passed through the door, finding themselves in a large space, crowded with people who seemed to be waiting in some kind of queue.

'Carla told me third class eat at two different times because their dining hall isn't big enough to accomodate them all at once,' Liam whispered to Paul who looked affronted at the piece of information. Liam couldn't help but grin at the though of how his snobbish brother would fare with a life down in these parts. Not well would be his guess.

He did not need to remove his jacket as he had thought he would, the coal dust and soot from the boiler rooms made it easy for him and his brother to pass unnoticed given their decidedly less than first class appearance. Paul seemed embarassed to be seen the way he was but nobody batted an eyelid and Liam strode ahead, comfortable in the knowledge that they were safe. No one would ever guess.

They bypassed the dining hall only to find themselves in a second foyer at the other side, this one similiarly packed with crowds of hungry people waiting to be allowed access.

'Imagine waiting in this every morning,' Paul murmured as they passed by the long line of passengers and even Liam had to admit, it must be a pain.

The door at the far end took them to the exact place Liam was looking for. He grinned and punched the air in triumph as he saw the little steel door labelled F-59. He grasped his brother in a hug, squeezing him tight and planted a kiss on the side of his head.

'Gerrof!' Paul pushed him away though he was laughing too. Liam crossed to the door, heart in his mouth, and knocked rather sedately. He waited a moment before knocking again, a little harder this time. Still no answer. He was starting to deflate, after coming all this way, she wasn't even here. He abandoned all pretense and hammered on the door with his fist.

'Carla!' he called though the cabin lay silent. He rested his forehead against the steel and closed his eyes, wondering as to where else she might be. The obvious place would be the dining hall but she hadn't been amongst the queues of people waiting to get in which meant she had either already been admitted or wasn't there at all.

'Right,' he spoke calmly to Paul, trying to keep all thoughts rational. He ignored the fluttering in his stomach. 'We'll wait here a while and if she doesn't show up we'll check the promenade and the bow, I think she likes it out there.'

'Liam -'

'And if she's not there we might have to ask someone where else a person might go down here, I mean do they have reading rooms and libraries like we do?'

'Liam, look -'

'And if we still can't find her then we'll go after Gordon because he must know where she is ... what?'

Paul had tugged on his brothers arm to get his attention and when Liam looked, he gestured solemnly towards the floor. Liam followed his eyeline and stared at the patch of red seeping out from under the door. He looked up at his brother and back at the floor.

'Is that blood?' he asked faintly.

Paul shrugged his shoulders and Liam dropped to his knees to examine the stain closer up. He stared at it a moment then ran his fingers over it, pulling back to look at them.

'It is,' he said. He looked up at Paul, an expression of utter horror gripping his face. 'It's blood ... her blood ... what's he done to her, Paul?'

Paul shook his head slowly from side to side, surprised to find that he actually cared for the wellbeing of the young girl his brother had fallen for.

'What the hell has he done?'

* * *

><p><strong>Thankyou for reading :)<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**As usual I want to thank everyone who reviewed. I honestly really appreciate it.**

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this, I kind of lost my inspiration after the last chapter then anything I did write just wasn't good enough. This was supposed to just be a wee chapter but it just kept expanding and it's gotten quite long. I hope that doesn't put anyone off :)**

* * *

><p>'Go and get a steward,' Liam said. He was on his knees by the door of cabin F-59. When he spoke, his words were directed to the floor: quiet, calm and concise, his eyes on the sliver of deep dark red protruding from the crack between steel and floor. His head snapped around after a moment or two of silence during which Paul made no attempt to move or indeed, to acknowledge his brothers words.<p>

'Paul!' Liam shouted, trying to keep the rising panic from his tone, 'Get a steward!'

'Steward,' Paul mumbled under his breath. 'Yeah ...' His dark eyes flickered between Liam's blue ones and the mark on the floor, reminiscent of something taken straight from the pages of a horror novel. Liam threw his hands in the air and stared at him with exasperated incredulity, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Paul blinked twice, awakening from his reverie and muttering something indistinguishable, turned on his heel, shoes clicking rhythmically as he retreated along the corridor towards the first of the two foyers.

'Dont go too fast,' Liam muttered sarcastically as he watched his brother walk away. He pushed himself to his feet, retreating a few steps himself then proceeded to hurl his body towards the heavy door, colliding with a dull thud and a grunt of pain. He brushed himself off, retreated a few steps further back and repeated. By the third attempt he was half-way down the corridor but still, when he rammed his shoulder against the steel the end result was unchanged. He slammed his palms against the barrier, kicked it twice and shouldered it a final time before admitting defeat and resting his forehead against the cool metal, much as he had done the day they'd thrown Carla from D-deck, calling her name over and over ...

Quick footsteps announced the return of Paul and Liam turned to see him walking briskly along the corridor looking slightly harassed, followed closely by a man Liam had never seen before - dark hair with streaks of silver and a face that would frighten children; square forehead, broad eyebrows, decisive nose - the regulation white jacket telling of his occupation.

'What's all this 'bout a blood stain?' the man asked as soon as he was within speaking distance, directing his words over Paul's head to Liam. He spoke with a cockney accent and he seemed to stalk rather than walk. He was a tall man but by no means graceful.

Liam said nothing but pointed to the floor and the steward bent down to examine the mark closely, knees cracking as he did. 'hmm ... certainly looks like blood,' he said, more to himself than either of the two passengers. He licked his finger and ran it over the surface, pulling back to inspect it. 'D'you know 'oo's been assigned to this cabin?' he asked without looking up.

'Yes,' Liam told him. 'My ... friend,' he said after a moments hesitation. 'Carla Donovan and some fellow named Tony Gordon who I have reason to believe may be responsible for this.'

The steward looked up for the first time and met Liam's eyes with his own brown ones. Liam recognised the ill-disguised amusement in them and had a sudden and ferocious urge to punch him in the jaw. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing dangerously.

'You 'ave reason to believe'?' the man quoted in a tone which sounded somewhat mocking. He took Liam in from head to toe then turned to Paul, eyes lingering on the tailered jacket and shiny shoes. Liam's breathing hitched and he arranged his face into what he hoped was an innocent stare, slackening his balled-up fists but the man simply snorted and turned back to the door. Paul caught Liam's eye and it was evident he shared his brothers relief.

Then the steward got to his feet, groaning as his knees took the strain. He raised a fist and hammered it against the steel. 'Anybody in there?' he called. 'This is Steward Bennet-Browne of White Star Line and I demand that you open this door immediately!'

There was no response, not even a whisper of a sound from inside the cabin and Liam gave an exasperated sigh as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket. They were wasting valuble time. Who knew how long Carla had been missing for, she could be dead already and they were standing about banging on doors.

'No answer,' the steward stated and Liam couldn't help but roll his eyes while three feet away, Paul did the same thing. 'Let's see if anyone knows anythin,' Bennet-Browne muttered. The man seemed to be accustomed to speaking to himself. Liam stopped fidgeting and watched with an angry disbelief as he moved to the neighbouring cabin and gave the door a gentle tap, smoothing his hair down and tucking both hands behind his back in an obvious attempt to make himself look more official. After a moment of silence he rapped again and moved onto the next.

'For God's sake man!' Liam exclaimed. 'Are you seriously going to chap on every God damn door on the bloody ship?'

'Now there's no need for language like that!' the steward huffed. He thrust his chest out, looking affronted. 'What d'you suggest I do?'

'Knock the bloody door down!' Liam's eyes bulged in their sockets, apoplectic with rage. Paul stepped toward him and gripped his shoulder in a manner which told him firmly to calm down.

'I can't do that I'm afraid, sir,'

Liam hissed a breath through his teeth and stabbed his chest with his thumb. 'Well if you won't, I will!' he growled and with a look of steely determination, went back to shouldering the door, throwing his entire weight against it with all the strength he possessed.

'Now 'ang on,' the steward said just as angrily, making a move as though to stop Liam but pulling back before his fingers made contact with the other mans arm. 'You can't do that!'

'Just watch us,' Paul spoke up boldly and he joined his brother in his mission to gain access to the tiny cabin.

'I'll 'ave you arrested!' the steward cried as he watched helplessly. 'I'll 'ave you both arrested for damaging White Star Line property!' but he may as well have been talking to the wall for all the impression he made.

He raised both hands to his head, gripping fistfuls of greying hair, expression agonized as he watched the brothers thump time and time again against the steel door until it started to creak ominously and seemed to made a hasty decision, pushing the consequences from his mind for now, knowing full well he'd be in greater trouble if the door was ripped from its hinges.

'Stop, stop,' he called above the blows and the gutteral grunts as two bodies slammed against an immovable obstacle. He grabbed hold of Paul's arm and wrenched him away. 'Stop it!'

He slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled from its pocket a master key.

'You had that all along?' Paul asked with a fiery disbelief.

The steward rounded on him, towering over Paul's much smaller frame though, lacking the necessary bulk, failed to act in any way intimidatory. 'Do you 'ave any idea 'ow much trouble I'll be in if my boss finds out I used this without 'is permission?' he held the key between two fingers, speaking with an air of superiority.

'Probably not half as much trouble as if a body were to be found on your watch,' Liam retorted smoothly.

The steward - having no reply - snorted derisively, shot Liam a look of utter disdain and turned back to the door, twisting the key in the lock and pushing it cautiously, peering around before opening it fully for all three to enter.

'Nobody 'ere,' the steward once again demonstrated his exceptional gift for stating the obvious, then adding an 'Oi!' as the two brothers pushed unceremoniously past him, forcing their way into the room.

'No, but look at this,' Paul said quietly. Liam looked up from where he was examining Carla's belongings, trying to deem if anything had been taken, and moved to Paul's side. He had shut the door over, not closing it fully but enough to see the dark stain, much more expansive this side of the threshold, and more of the stuff on the door itself.

He reached out and placed a hand on Liam's forearm, squeezing comfortingly as he watched his brothers breath catch in a spasm, his face turn the milky colour of porridge as violent, poorly suppressed tremors took hold of his hands.

'We'll find her, Liam,' he whispered soothingly. 'If it's the last thing we do, we'll find her.'

* * *

><p>Tony Gordon stood at the opposite end of the corridor, concealed behind the door which had been left to stand ajar. He had watched the exchange between the brothers and the steward with eyes so narrow they were reduced to mere slits and silently thanked his lucky stars that he had had the sense to peer around the door before entering lest he should be harassed and more than likely assaulted by the Connor boy over that stupid girls whereabouts. Possibly even arrested if that steward believed their tale. He waited impatiently while they examined the interior of the cabin and emerged a minute or two later, all looking the worse for it. The younger one looked like he might throw up. They closed the door over and stood in a huddle, holding a quiet and hurried conversation. Too quiet for Tony to hear. He slipped away, silent and unnoticed, wearing a grin worthy of a Cheshire cat. <em>They'll never find her<em>, he thought maliciously. _And this game has suddenly gotten a whole lot more interesting._..

* * *

><p>'You two search the deck for this Gordon fella,' the steward was saying as they entered back into the foyer, 'and I'll go 'ave a word wi' the boss.'<p>

'You'll be quick, won't you?' Liam called after him as he strode away down the hall though all he recieved for his efforts was a half-hearted wave of the hand.

'Come on,' Paul said. He gripped his brothers arm and pulled him in the direction of the door which he remembered would give them access to the promenade. 'Let's start out here.'

Twenty minutes later they regrouped back in the foyer which was now empty of people with the exception of the odd passenger milling around, moving slowly across the floor from one side to the other. Liam found himself wondering idly what these people did for entertainment as, after searching the lower decks and perhaps seeing more of the ship than any other passenger onboard with the exception of his brother, he had come across no reading room, no library, no cafes, restuarants or gymnasiums. Infact, there only seemed to be two spaces indoors dedicated to third class use and they were a smoking room with a small bar which seemed to be for male use only and the general room at the bow of the ship. The room in which Liam had first spoken to Carla, he had realised with a pang as he had searched the faces of the inhabitants and allowed his eyes to rest on the wooden bench by the expansive window where he had taken refuge from his overbearing family and she had approached him.

Other than that, there was the outdoor berth which could be seen from A-deck but all were just empty spaces with nothing but each other to keep passengers occupied. After his search, Liam had most definitely come around to Carla's way of thinking, realising that she was right when she said the difference between the classes was sickening. He made a mental note to bow to her superior knowledge when he next laid eyes on her, _assuming I'll get the chance_, he thought grimly. His jaw set determinedly as he watched the lanky steward stalk over to where he and Paul were waiting.

'Well?' he asked when the man was within hearing distance.

'I spoke to the boss,' the steward said.

'And?'

'And 'e's sent the message to all employees to keep an eye out for two people of the descriptions you gave us.'

There was a moment in which nobody spoke. Then: 'Is that it?' Liam asked, feeling not so much disappointed as deflated.

His scathing tone seemed to get the other mans back up immediately. His shoulders crept back, chest thrust out and he stared down at Liam, his face the picture of contempt. 'Well what did you expect?' he asked scornfully.

'A sight more than a game of Chinese Whispers to be going on with!' Liam told him, voice rising dangerously. He clenched his jaw, biting back the tirade of insults he wanted to throw at the incompetent fool and took deep, steadying breaths through his nostrils, eyes cold as ice as he stared into the other mans.

The steward looked down on Liam for a moment. He was also breathing through his nose, mouth hardened to a thin line and when he spoke, it was with that antagonizing air of superiority, ' 'e also said 'e'd 'ave a couple of stewards do the rounds on the cabins, speak to passengers, you know the like. See if anyone saw or 'eard anythin unusual. As for you, sir ...' he took a moment to once again take in Liam's appearance from well cut hair to expensive shoe-covered toe. '... I suggest you make your way back to your own berth and leave this to us. We'll see to it that you're alerted to any progress made.' He smiled a scathing smile that didn't touch his eyes and turned. Marched away leaving Liam to stare after him, fists clenched.

'What I'd give to punch that face,' Liam muttered under his breath, watching as the steward walked away.

'Don't give him the satisfaction,' Paul told him. He gripped Liam's shoulder firmly in a gesture of support as much as it was a restraint.

'And you,' Liam said, rounding on his brother. 'You had to get the most incompetent worker on the ship, didn't you?'

'Don't start blaming me!' Paul said sternly. 'I just told the first steward I met, how was I supposed to know he was indifferent?'

Liam pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, the thin line of his mouth twisted in a grimace. He sighed a deep and heavy sigh. 'What are we going to do now?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Paul answered honestly. 'I think we may have hit a dead end, Liam.'

'No,' Liam said. His hands fell away from his tired, bloodshot eyes. 'We can't think like that.'

'Mum and dad are going to realise we're missing soon,' Paul began tentatively. 'Maybe you should go back and show your face. I'll stay here and carry on searching. I'll talk to people -'

'Forget it, Paul,' Liam said loudly. His eyes flashed tenaciously, jaw locked in determination. 'I'm going nowhere,' he told his brother firmly.

Paul was silent for a second, eyeing Liam warily. 'Well then maybe I should,' he said quietly.' Come on Liam,' he added when he found himself fixed with a deadly glare, 'Sooner or later they're going to realise we're not there and where do you reckon is the first place they'll think to look?'

Liam stayed silent, fidgeting with his cuffs, slowly thinking it over. 'I suppose you're right,' he said eventually, a little grudgingly. 'It makes sense.'

'If I go now I might get back in time for the church service. I'll tell mum and dad we weren't hungry for breakfast or we slept in or something and that you're still sulking.' He looked down at his blackened, dust covered clothes, ignoring the face Liam pulled at him. 'Of course, I'll need to get changed first,' he said. 'Can you imagine their faces if I tell them I've been in the boiler rooms?'

Liam gave a snort of laughter. 'I'd pay good money to see that.' he grinned though the smile soon gave way to a look of dubiousness. 'Are you sure about this?' he asked. 'After everything we did to get down here?'

'You don't need my help, little bro. You're perfectly capable of carrying on alone.'

'That, I am,' Liam responded with a self-confident smile, only just keeping it on the right side of arrogant. Paul rolled his eyes in response though he was smiling too.

Then Liam's brow furrowed as his face took on a more serious expression. 'Try and keep them at bay for as long as possible?'

'I will,' Paul assured him. 'On one condition.'

'What's that?'

'Come back to the room tonight whether you've found her or not, let me know you're alright.'

Liam nodded in aqcuiescence, a ghost of a smile passing over his lips. 'Done.'

Paul threw an arm out suddenly and seized Liam in an unexpected hug. Caught by surprise, Liam did not react immediately though after a moment, lifted his own arms and patted his brothers back. 'Thanks for helping me get this far,' he said, feeling a little awkward.

'No problem, little bro, didn't I say it's my duty to take care of you?' Liam gave a laugh which sounded more like a guffaw in his brothers shoulder and released his hold.

Paul did the same. 'I can see how much you care about her,' he said. 'And I suppose you falling for a steerage girl isn't such a bad thing.'

'Don't let mum and dad hear you say that.'

Paul laughed, 'I won't.' He took a step back, away from Liam though he kept a hold of his upper arm with one hand. He used the fingers of the other to point directly at his little brothers face. 'But that doesn't mean I approve,' he said sternly, eyes hard and narrowed as though he were speaking to a naughty child. He held the facade a further second before relenting, his face relaxing as he smiled in amusement. 'Had you going there, didn't I?' he laughed.

'You idiot,' Liam thumped the side of his arm. 'Go on then,' he said. 'Get gone.'

'Erm ... how?'

Liam explained how to get to the door on D-deck via Scotland Road and wished his brother luck as he set off. Paul was a smooth talker, he figured. He'd be able to charm his way back into first class no problem.

* * *

><p>Liam watched as his older brother crossed the foyer and passed through the door back into the corridor of third class cabins and after a moments thought, set off in the same direction. He figured if he was going to check out the entire section of steerage he may as well start at the top and work his way down.<p>

Scotland Road was busy with crewmen, off-duty stewards and waiters though not one batted an eyelid as Liam passed by with his scruffy, blackened shirt, ruffled hair and scuffed shoes. He had removed his jacket, fearing it made him look too formal for third class and was carrying it slung over one shoulder, hooked on a finger and he had loosened off the top three buttons of his shirt. He walked with confidence, as though he fitted right in, and whistled jovially, even smiling and nodding at workers as he passed.

The promenade was almost empty, most likely owing to the bitter cold of the morning, as was the area at the bow of the ship where Liam couldn't resist a peek up to A-deck though there was nobody to be seen. Not that he would have known what to do if he was spotted but he reckoned the fall out might be worth the looks of sheer horror on their perfectly made-up faces.

Standing at the bow on D-deck, the uppermost part of the ship a person of third class was entitled to frequent, Liam weighed up his options. He had two choices as he saw it. The first would be to carry on as he and Paul had done, wander from door to door, deck to deck, hoping some revealing clue would leap out at him or better yet, he'd bump into the man himself: Tony Gordon, who was proving to be as elusive as young Carla.

Or two, start the process methodically. Check out any rooms or meeting spaces as he came to them, speak to passengers who may have seen either of the pair and meanwhile, start a door to door on cabins as the steward had promised a few of his colleagues were doing two floors below on F-deck.

As the second option seemed the most sensible and the most likely to yield a result, he chose that one to be going on with and made his way to the far end of D-deck, past the enclosed market place and the second class dining saloon with it's funny swivel chairs and glorious scent of warm bread and hot coffee at which his suppressed hunger reared its head, to a part of the ship Liam had never before set foot. There was a small wooden door with a tiny golden plaque nailed to the centre, little black letters imprinted into it read 'Third Class Cabins' and so, with a swift glance over his shoulder, Liam gave it a push and entered, letting it swing back on its hinges as he rubbed his upper arms and revelled in the sudden warmth.

The corridor stretching out before him was fancier than the one in which Carla abided but still simple enough to be sure it accomodated the least wealthy on board. Liam wondered idly if the price of securing one of these rooms was much different from those far below and found himself thinking how debasing it must feel for the poor folks on G-deck who appeared to be absolute bottom of the pecking order.

Clearing his throat, he crossed to the first door and stood before it, sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, calmingly. He raised his hand to knock.

It was apparent quite early on, the difference in temperament between these people and those of whom he was usually forced to socialise with. Liam's usual companions were raised from childhood to be stoic and guarded and in control at all times, not to mention the superiority they'd had instilled in them. Down here. he had the occasional door slammed in his face but the vast majority of people seemed only too pleased to talk, most of them, Liam figured, probably only too glad of the company as many folks seemed to be travelling alone. One or two knew of Tony, the mans accent giving him away amongst the English and the Irish, and several recognised Carla's description, mostly male, though none of whom could shed light on eithers whereabouts.

As morning whittled away to afternoon, the growing pangs of hunger started to gnaw away, making themselves known at the pit of Liam's stomach and as he was finding more and more cabins empty, decided that the best course of action would be to take a half hour off to satisfy them. If luck was on his side he may even run into Gordon down there and so, with that thought, he abandoned his search and took the stairs down to F-deck, mentally patting himself on the back for manouvering his way around the ship without getting lost.

Lunch was a simple affair in third class. One knife; one fork and a giant buffet of food. Very unlike the complicated and intricate affair that was meal times in first class where a person had so many forks to contend with it was damn near impossible to remember which one went with which course.

Liam filled his plate with roast beef and gravy, green beans, boiled potatoes and a large chunk of freshly baked bread and clambered into a seat between two other men, both of whom he'd spoken to already. One of them looked up when Liam reached over for the salt. His eyes crinkled in recognition.

'Ye found yer lass yet?' he asked in a broad Irish accent. Liam looked up into the mans eyes: large and blue with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over with careless locks of fair hair and on his head sat a greying cap, an item which seemed to be mandatory in these parts. His face was sallow, his frame a stone or two heavier than Liam's.

Mouth full of beef, Liam opted to shake his head rather than risk spitting on the table.

'Ah, I'm sorry to hear that.'

Liam gave an almighty swallow and took a quick gulp of water to help it down. 'I will though,' he said. 'It's only a matter of time.'

'I'm sure you're right.'

'I am.'

The gentleman seated opposite leaned forward in his chair. He looked not dissimiliar to the Irish man though with hair of dark brown rather than blonde and perhaps an extra stone on his frame. He spoke with an English accent. 'What's all this?' he asked curiously.

'Yer man here's lost his girl,' the Irishman said before Liam had a chance to.

'Lost her?' he asked. 'How can you lose someone on a ship?'

'She's been taken,' Liam told him. 'Snatched.'

The Englishman's mouth gaped in surprise. His fork, stilled half-way to his mouth, dripped thick brown gravy down his front. 'Snatched?' he repeated. 'By who?' his eyes were large and round and wide open with alarm.

'Fellow named Gordon,' the Irishman said. 'That's right isn't it?' he added to Liam who nodded his answer.

'He's her roommate,' he explained. 'We met him, Charlie. D'ye not remember?' The Irishman leaned across the table and nudged the man called Charlie's arm. 'The jock who sat with us night before last. Kept bangin on about his girl, remember?'

Charlie gave a grunt, eyes unfocused as he concentrated.

'Carla, her name was. I remembered it 'cause it's such an unusual name. Don't think I've ever heard it before. Nice, mind,' he added as an after thought.

'So she wasn't his girl after all?' Charlie asked. 'She's yours?' he nodded to Liam.

'Right,' Liam said. He loaded his fork with potato and green beans and swirled it through the remaining gravy. 'Only now they both seemed to have disappeared -'

'Couldn't have gone far on a ship -'

'Have you seen either of them since yesterday morning?' Liam asked before unloading the fork into his mouth.

'Truth be told, I can't really remember what he looked like ...'

'Tall and muscular,' Liam told him, covering his mouth as he spoke. 'Black hair, black eyes ... Scottish accent?'

Charlie was chewing on his bottom lip, his forehead creased as he concentrated. 'Doesn't ring any bells ...' he said slowly. 'What about her?'

'Quite small,' Liam answered. 'About five foot four, long black hair, really, really beautiful bright green eyes, high cheekbones ...'

Charlie was shaking his head. 'I reckon I'd remember a girl like that,' he said with a wicked grin. 'Sounds just my type.' He blanched suddenly and Liam got the feeling he'd just been kicked in the shin.

The Irishman was glaring at his companion. 'The girl's been snatched, Charlie!' he exclaimed.

'How d'you know for sure?'

'I beg your pardon?' Liam said. He was starting to feel irritated.

'How d'you know she's been taken and hasn't just left of her own free will? Maybe she's ran away with the Gordon fellow.'

Liam shook his head, laid down his knife and fork. 'He's an absolute control freak and she told me he frightened her. Plus, there was blood on the floor.'

The man called Charlie's eyebrows shot up under his hairline.

'Well I'd better get back to it, gents,' Liam said. He swallowed the last of his water and got to his feet. 'Someone on this damn ship must have seen something! I'd appreciate it if you'd both keep an eye out ...'

'Goes without saying,' the Irishman said.

'I hope you get her back safe and well,' Charlie told him gruffly. 'I wouldn't trust they jocks further than I could throw them.'

'You don't trust anyone, Charlie.'

Liam took his leave as the Englishman retaliated haughtily and walked the length of the table to the door at the far side.

He never noticed the man seated four places down who sat alone hunched over his plate, pull his cap further down over his eyes and tense as he walked by, nor did he feel black eyes boring into him as he exited the saloon.

* * *

><p>Afternoon gave way to dusk and Liam, taking a quick breather, stood on the the promenade of E-deck, watching the sun which seemed to inflate as it dropped to the darkening line of water in the west, burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame and promising so fairly another fine day on the morrow. It would have been a pleasant evening had it not been so bitterly cold.<p>

He leaned over the railings, puffing air from his cheeks, and watched the black of the water rushing by some thirty feet below.

'Where are you, Carla?' he murmured, raising his eyes to the beautiful glow of amber along the horizon and wishing she was there by his side to view it with him.

Suppose Gordon had thrown her overboard in a fit of anger or jealousy? No, no, no, he couldn't think like that. Giving his head a shake, he pushed the idea from his mind, unable to bear the thought of her struggling to stay afloat in the black, uninviting water. Limbs flailing ... praying for rescue ... screaming for help with what breath she could catch but gradually succumbing to the waters icy conditions ... cries mellowing to faint whispers ... lips turning hypothermic blue ... her body giving up ... organs shutting down one by one as they became unable to cope with the sheer cold. Would her body float? To be found by the next passing ship, or would she sink to the depths, never to resurface?

Two palms slammed against the railing, rattling the structure the full length of the deck as Liam squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and screwing up his face, his whole body tensed as he fought to rid his mind of the gut-wrenching image which flashed unrelentingly before his eyes. For a second he was silent, then a rasping breath escaped his throat, another sucked in in a dry sob and for the first time since this nightmare began, Liam allowed his pent-up emotions to get the better of him.

He raised a hand to cover his eyes as stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears collected on his lashes and streamed down his cheeks, dripping from his chin to be lost in the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. His body convulsed, shoulders hunched and with his free hand he gripped the railing, knuckles white from force. He wept wildly, the violence of his emotions scaring him because he could not hold them back and in that moment, he knew. He knew if Tony Gordon had indeed thrown her to her death, he would not hesitate in following.

Never before had he appealed to Heaven in prayers so hopeless, so agonised as in that hour left his lips.

Eventually, drained of all tears, his body stilled and his breathing evened. His body was spent, exhaustion overwhelming him to the point he felt barely able to stand on his own two feet. He glanced up, wondering how long he had been standing there and it was with some surprise he saw that the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon and the moon had risen with majesty, full and bright for the night was fine. Not a cloud in sight. He shivered violently and wrapped the discarded jacket around his shoulders, pulling it close to him and blowing hot air into his clasped hands, suddenly aware that his fingers were painfully numb. Liam wiped at his cheeks with the backs of his hands and took deep, steadying breaths as he turned to find the door. It glowed around the edges with light from the other side, warm and inviting and as he pulled it open, a blast of enveloping heat rushed to meet him. He shivered as he closed it over behind him, flexing his fingers and toes as he did.

'Excuse me!'

Maybe he'd call it a night soon. Go back to his own suite ... sink into a hot bath and climb between soft, rich sheets ...

'Excuse me!'

It had been a long day after all and he was exhausted, mentally as well as physically. And he wanted to be up at the crack of dawn again, bright and refreshed, ready to start all over again.

'Oi!'

Liam turned to see the man called Charlie, the one he had met at lunch, jogging towards him along the corridor of Scotland Road, one hand in the air as though trying to flag someone down.

He slowed to a walk, seeing he finally had Liam's attention, the latter peering at him curiously, and flashed him a wide toothy grin. 'Your a hard man to find,' he said, pointing a finger at Liam's face as Liam watched with bemusement. 'Been searching for ages.'

'Whatever for?' He glanced over Charlie's shoulder and saw that he was not alone. There was a young couple standing not far behind, probably not much older than Liam himself though the hardship of growing up in near poverty had aged them both considerably. They clasped hands tightly and watched the two men anxiously.

'This is Tommy and Ethel Trentham,' Charlie introduced. 'They're my neighbours down on F-deck.'

'How do you do?' Liam muttered, wondering as to the point of this. Both Tommy and Ethel smiled politely.

'We got talking earlier, 'bout your lass, like,' Charlie said. 'And Tommy here ... ' he trailed off, glancing around at the man who was shifting uncomfortably. 'Why don't you tell him, Tom?'

The young man released his wifes hand and stepped forward, cleared his throat. His hands disappeared into his pockets. 'Don't know if this will help, mind,' he said quietly, eyes anywhere but on Liam's face. His accent was Northern English. 'But yesterday afternoon I was just leaving the cabin to go for a drink, like, and I met that Scotsman you've been looking for.'

Liam's eyebrows contracted. His exhaustion suddenly deserted him, any thoughts of a hot bath and an early night were vanquished.

'Tell him what he was carrying, Tom,' Charlie urged.

The young man called Tommy seemed to hesitate, eyes lingering on Charlie's for a moment. 'He was carrying a girl.'

Liam's heart lurched at the young mans words and his stomach muscles clenched painfully. His eyes widened as he took the information in. 'Where was this?' he asked, his mouth uncomfortably dry.

'Just by the stairs to G-deck. I'd say that's where he was headed.'

'Did she look okay?' Liam asked urgently. 'The girl?'

The young man looked very uneasy. His hands emerged from his pockets and dropped to his sides, fingering the hem of his tweed jacket. 'She was kind of slumped in his arms. Her eyes were closed.' His own eyes darted back to Charlie for reassurance. 'He saw me looking and muttered something about her having too much to drink.'

Liam closed his eyes, working hard to keep his breathing steady. When he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, it shook violently. 'And you say they were headed to G-deck?' he asked, surprised at how steady his voice sounded.

'Yes,' Tommy nodded. 'And that's all I know. I can't tell you anymore' He looked relieved to be finished as he took a step back and reached for Ethel's hand. 'I hope I've helped,' he said. The pair turned to leave.

'Thankyou!' Liam called after them. Tommy turned and flashed him a ghost of a smile and then they were gone.

Charlie watched them walk away then turned to Liam. 'How lucky was that, eh?' he beamed.

'Lucky indeed,' Liam said. His heart hammered against his ribs with such ferocity he thought it a wonder it hadn't already burst from his chest. 'Why would he take her down to G-deck?' he asked urgently. 'What's there other than cabins?'

'Pantry?' Charlie suggested with a shrug. 'Storerooms, I think there's a post office down there too.'

'Storerooms you say?' Liam asked with a raised eyebrow.

'Yeah but not a great place if you want to keep someone concealed. There's no lock on the door and it's too close to the cabins. All she'd have to do is shout and someone'd go running.'

'Been down have you?'

'Had a proper nosy, the first day,' Charlie grinned. 'Of course,' he said, 'there is the doorway down to the engine rooms,' a deep crease appeared on his forehead. 'I suppose he could have taken her there,' he said slowly.

'Why would he take her down there?' Liam asked, remembering the noise and the heat from his and Paul's little excursion, not to mention the hundreds of workers.

'Well it's loud, isn't it?' Charlie said. 'Not much chance of being heard if she screamed.'

Liam acquiesced with a tilt of his head.

'And it's off-limits to passengers so she's not as likely to be found, is she?'

'There's still the workers though,' Liam said though as the words left his lips, the image of the door behind the spiral staircase materialised in his mind. _Quiet and accessible_. And his heart filled with hope, his eyes shining in anticipation as he remembered his and Paul's words from earlier._ 'What do you think's through there?' 'Cargo hold, I reckon.' _

He knew he was right. It was the perfect hiding place.

Liam turned to Charlie so fast the other man jumped, and grasped his upper arms in glee.

'Charlie, you may have just saved my life!'

'Glad I could be of assistance,' Charlie said, recovering quickly. He tried and failed to suppress the self-satisfied grin that spread slowly across his face, stretching from ear to ear, mirroring Liam's own.

'If we meet again, I'll buy you a drink.'

He released his hold and gave the mans arm a friendly thump before taking off in a sprint along the corridor, spirits higher than they had been in two days.

'I'll hold you to that ...' were Charlie's parting words, shouted across the empty passageway. Liam could hear him laughing heartily as he disappeared through the door at the far end.

Down the stairs to F-deck, past Carla's cabin, the floor of which had been cleaned meticulously, all traces of blood vanished. As he dashed by the dining saloon, standing dark and silent, he found himself wondering idly what had become of Steward Bennet-Browne. The man had not been since early that morning, before Paul left. Whether he was still searching or not, or indeed if he had bothered at all, remained to be seen and with a flush of anger, Liam made a mental note to inform White Star Line of the mans incompetence once on American soil. There was far more pressing matters to deal with at that moment.

An elderly couple, retiring to their cabin for the night, stopped to stare as Liam dashed by, wrenching open the door and disappearing through the other side, throwing apologies over his shoulder.

Down the stairs to G-deck and along the mercifully deserted corridor, ignoring the unsettling proximity of the black waterline visible through the small, round portholes, until he reached the door through which he and Paul had burst that morning. Hot and sweaty and covered, head to toe, in coal dust. Liam's lips quirked upward as he eyed the sooty silhouettes printed on the wall, courtesy of him and his brother.

He stepped before it, taking a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. He threw his shoulders back as he placed a tentative hand on the door handle, taking a deep, steadying breath as his body trembled in anticipation. He pushed it open, screwing his face up against the noise from the other side and peered anxiously into the darkness.

She was down there ... he could feel it ...

* * *

><p><strong>Thankyou for reading :)<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Firstly thankyou to the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter, I love you all :D**

**Secondly, this may be my last update for a while because I'm going away for a month and will have no or very limited internet access but I'm hoping to get the next chapter up before I leave. May not happen though.**

* * *

><p>She had lost all sense of time. Holed up in that windowless space, there was no way of telling if it was night or day or indeed, which night or day it was. How long had it been now? How much longer to go? She had no way of knowing.<p>

She had long since ceased in the struggle against the bonds, intricate and unyielding as they were, and now lay limp against the expensive mahogany chair, her head slumped forward, chin resting on her chest.

The light bulb up above swayed precariously as the ship diverged, first to one side then the other. Whatever for, she didn't know. _Perhaps dodging icebergs_, she thought idly though whatever the reason, she couldn't seem to muster enough energy within her to care.

Soft, hurried footsteps sounded from the other side of the door, echoey and ethereal, beating out a rhythm with the engines. Unfazed, Carla raised her head a few inches and stared at the door through tired, puffy, bloodshot eyes, one of which she was sure was blackened after the blow Tony had dealt her. To her immense relief, the lost sight in her left eye had returned, slowly but surely though she found if she moved too quickly, black spots danced before it and an overwhelming naseau swept over her. She learned quickly to keep still.

The handle rattled as a pressure was applied from the other side and the door swung open to reveal the tall, muscular Scotsman standing in the frame. The light from the lone bulb cast eerie shadows on his face making his cheeks appear sunken and hollow and his eyes all the larger. He looked menacing. Bone-chillingly creepy.

He smiled a self-satisfied smile as he gazed upon his prisoner, exactly where he had left her, and stepped into the room, closing the door over behind him.

'Evening,' he intoned politely, though somehow managed to make the innocent word sound menacing. 'How are we feeling?'

Carla's eyes narrowed as she envisioned herself leaping from the confines of the wooden chair and smacking him soundly and satisfyingly across his abhorrently smug face. Her fingers twitched in anticipation though the bolt of pain which spasmed across her shoulders when she struggled kept her still. She winced at the intensity as the little black dots appeared again and so, feeling utterly helpless, she settled for glaring resentfully at her captor instead.

Tony was watching her with amusement in his eyes. 'Not a happy bunny, I see' he chuckled. 'Well, you've only yourself to blame, Carla,' he said, pursing his lips and eyeing her as he would a naughty child. 'If you'd only gone along with my plans you wouldn't find yourself tied to that uncomfortable chair now, would you?' His eyes danced as he watched for her reaction.

Carla said nothing. _Don't give him the satisfaction_, she told herself.

'You know I'm right,' he went on. He uncrossed his arms and pulled a holdall from behind his back, dropped it to the floor with a thump. It was the same one he'd brought before, full of bottled water and granola bars and despite her reluctance to show any sort of reliance on him, Carla couldn't help but eye it, desperately thirsty as she was.

Tony chuckled again. 'Thought that might grab your attention,' he said and he bent down, unzipped it and pulled from it the most glorious, delectable sight she had ever seen.

The water sloshed from side to side as he pulled the top from the bottle and brought it to her lips tantalizingly slowly. His eyes danced wildly, pupils dilated as he reveled in the control he had over this extraordinarily beautiful woman.

'That's it,' he encouraged as she gulped the water down, feeling it hit the walls of her empty stomach. He reached around and placed a hand on the back of her neck and she jerked away, spilling liquid all down her front.

He sighed. 'Now,' he patronized. 'That wasn't very clever, was it?'

She threw him a look of utter loathing, feeling sick at his proximity. Goosebumps erupted across the back of her neck where his fingers touched.

'What's the matter?' he asked. 'Cat got your tongue?'

She stared straight ahead, rearranging her face into a look of impassiveness._ I will not give him the satisfaction_. she repeated it over and over in her head. _I will not give him the satisfaction._

Tony gave a long, exaggerated sigh and pulled the water away, setting it down six feet away. Far from her reach but perfectly within her eyeline.

'I'll just leave this here, shall I?' he asked, knowing how it would taunt her, being so disconcertingly close and yet so far away. 'No point in me staying if you're not going to talk to me.' He turned to leave. 'Oh, by the way,' he said glancing back at her. 'Your Liam's wandering around upstairs looking for you.'

'What?' The word flew from her lips before she had a chance to check it. She stared at him fretfully, silent mantra forgotten. Her eyes met his and widened as her heart swelled with hope. He did care after all, no matter what Tony had said. He had found a way down and he was searching for her at his own personal cost. Her very own knight in shining armour. Her eyes glistened at the thought.

Tony's own eyes hardened at her sudden change in demeanor at the mere mention of that wasters name, his lips forming a straight and narrow line as he watched her back straighten, her eyes come to life. 'Yes,' he said showing only a hint of annoyance. 'A shrewd one him, I'll give him that. Determined too,' he added. 'He's been speaking to a number of our fellow passengers, trying to wean information from them.' His eyebrows furrowed, a deep crease appearing in his forehead. He blinked as his eyes focussed on a point over Carla's left shoulder. 'I'm starting to think it's only a matter of time before he finds his way down here.' Tony paused for a moment, giving his words a chance to sink in. Carla was watching him intently, hanging onto his every syllable, desperate for information though refusing to give him the satisfaction of denying her if she asked. He tilted his head to the side, a devious grin spreading slowly across his face. 'I think I'll go wait for him,' he said.

Carla sat straighter in her chair, straining once again against the bonds, ignoring the agonising pain which shot swiftly across her upper body. 'No!,' she cried, kicking her feet against the rope binding her ankles to the chair legs and almost tipping to the side. 'Please don't hurt him, Tony! Don't hurt him!' she cried, tears of regret and frustration beginning to collect on her lashes.

'Oh, she does have a voice after all,' Tony said mockingly, not bothering to keep the laughter from his own as he leant against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest.

'I'll do whatever you want!' Carla cried desperately. 'I'll come with you when we get to New York, please just don't hurt him!'

Tony appeared to think about her desperate offer for a moment then lowered his eyes to meet hers. They hardened instantly upon contact. 'No,' he said. 'You had your chance. Now it's my turn to have a little fun.'

'Tony!' she cried as he turned to leave. Tears of horror were streaming down her cheeks. 'Please!'

'Oh I almost forgot,' Tony turned back and moved towards her. She balked as he came close, scooting down to open the holdall he'd left on the floor, pulling from it a roll of thick tape. He grinned up at her. 'Can't have you shouting out to him now, can I?'

Her eyes widened in fear as the screech of fresh tape being peeled off the roll echoed around the room and he straightened up, taking a menacing step towards her ...

* * *

><p>Liam stood staring into the darkness, heart pounding against his ribs in a fashion it seemed to have become accustomed to over the past few days. After all the searching, the agonising wait, the constant fear of being caught ... he finally felt like it was all coming to a head and yet mixed with the elation and excitement was a certain sense of foreboding and trepidation as to what awaited him at the bottom of the stairs. Would she be there, as he prayed she would? Or had he hit another dead end?<p>

He took a nervous step over the threshold, feeling like he was leaving civilisation behind and made to close the door over but changed his mind and pulled it back before it could click in the latch, widening it as far as the hinge would allow. Perhaps somebody else would notice and follow his footsteps down the stairs which, he figured, could only be a good thing. If something were to happen to him, chances of rescue would be increased. Other than that, he may just need a hand with Carla if he found her. _When_, he corrected himself. _When he found her_.

The rumble of the engines increased to an almost deafening level as he descended further and he found himself wondering idly if the workers hearing was affected after being subjected to it day in, day out. He was grateful as he remembered that not many of them resided in this part of the deck. He wouldn't have stood a chance at the other side where him and Paul had emerged from the other staircase leading from D-deck and he rubbed his knuckles absent-mindedly as the memory of the worker who had grabbed his brother resurfaced, the satisfying thud as his fist met the other mans face. He grinned inanely as he took the last few steps and hoped he'd have the chance to relive the moment, preferably with the jaw of another man entirely.

The glow of the light from the coal furnaces burned brightly to his left, a few silhouettes visible busying themselves with their shovels though to his right, utter blackness. It was unnerving staring into it, unsure of what lay behind. He took small, tentative steps leaving the safety of the stairs, arms out as though to balance himself, feeling oddly disorientated in the darkness. With the sudden lack of sight, it seemed every other sense he possessed had heightened and his body tingled with anticipation. His ears strained for any sound which may be construed as out of the ordinary though with the constant racket from the engines it was proving difficult to distinguish anything.

The door he and Paul had seen earlier materialised infront of him as his eyes adjusted and it was with a rush of relief he sprang forward to grasp the handle though his fingers had barely made contact with the heat-proof plastic covering when a shadow loomed on his left. 'Looking for something, Connor?'

Liam whirled around, jumping like he'd recieved an electric shock and saw the glint of two black eyes sparkling eerily like gems before a fist connected with his temple and he felt his legs give way.

* * *

><p>'Just let me see him,'<p>

'Mother,' Paul protested, 'he's asleep.'

'I won't disurb him.'

'There's no point -'

'I just want to look at him.'

'Mother, I really don't think -'

'Paul,' Helen interrupted in her sternest tone, directing an intimidating finger at her sons face. 'your brother has not been seen since yesterday morning.' She fixed her large blue eyes on his and with a twang of guilt, Paul saw in them the strain she had been under the last couple of days. 'I just want to see how he is,' she said quietly.

Paul deflected another of his mothers attempts at gaining access to his and Liam's private suite by throwing his arm out, effectively barring her entry. He quickly stepped from the empty cabin and closed the door behind him.

'Where's the sense in that?' he asked her kindly, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. 'It's forty-five minutes to midnight, mother. Why don't you go back to yours and fathers suite and I'll see to it that he dines with us tomorrow morning.'

Helen took a step back and placed her hands on her hips, eyeing her eldest son with something akin to suspicion. 'You said that to your father last night and neither of you showed your faces.'

'I already explained why,' Paul told her, allowing a hint of exasperation to creep into his tone. 'Liam and I sat up half the night talking about this girl from steerage and we simply slept in.'

Helen huffed, her eyes flashed. 'I hope you managed to talk some sense into him,' she said harshly and then her expression mellowed. 'I can't have my little boy marrying a common tart.'

Paul closed his eyes momentarily. 'Yes, mother.'

Placated, Helen reached up and kissed her sons cheek. She gazed at him lovingly as she pulled back, resting a hand where her lips had been. 'I'm putting my faith in you, Paul,' she told him. Her tone hardened along with her eyes and when she spoke again she enunciated every word. 'Don't let me down.' She kissed him once more and turned away, walking the length of the corridor with a poise and elegance that would put royalty to shame.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief and re-entered his and Liam's suite, ensuring the door was closed firmly behind him. He puffed air from his cheeks and leant his back and shoulders against it, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers. _Where are you, Liam_, he thought to himself. _You promised you'd be back_.

His stomach churned as images of his little brother flashed before his eyes. Perhaps he'd found the man called Gordon and grappled with him. Maybe he was lying unconscious somewhere. What if he'd fallen overboard?

Paul's hand fell to his mouth as he sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head as his blood ran cold. 'No.' He said the word aloud, hoping to banish the morbid images plagueing his mind.

What if he'd been caught? Had he been incarcerated? ... What if he needed his brothers help?

For a second Paul stood, indecisive and uneasy, eyes wide but unseeing as he pondered the best course of action and then, decision suddenly made, he pushed himself from the door and turned to face it, wrenching it open and slamming it behind him as he took off down the corridor, hoping his mother was not lingering on the other side.

Mercifully, the ship was all but deserted. The night was a horribly cold one which, Paul guessed, may be the reason for the lack of lingering passengers. He almost wished he'd stayed in the warmth of his room as he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and shivered violently. He took the stairs down to D-deck, dismayed to see the door which he had come through earlier that day still manned, even at this hour, though noticing with thankfulness that it was not the same steward. He wondered idly what had become of Bennet-Browne, the steward from F-deck, but banished the man from his thoughts. He was a problem that could be dealt with later.

Flashing this new steward a winning smile, Paul turned left at the bottom of the grand staircase and exited through to the promenade, feeling the chill cut instantly to his very bones.

He glanced up at the sky, marvelling at how clear the night was and felt himself momentarily distracted by the sheer beauty of the stars twinkling down at him. Millions upon millions of them scattered like gold dust. He had never seen anything like it.

He gasped and jumped back as a huge shape suddenly emerged from the darkness. For a horror-struck second, Paul had visions of another ship crossing their path and smashing them to smithereens but it was with incredulous wonder he realised the huge mass was not infact a vessel but a giant lump of blueish-white ice. He gazed at it as the ship sailed past, fast leaving it behind just as a second appeared, even larger than the first.

'Wow,' Paul muttered under his breath, wide eyed and utterly captivated by the sheer size of the thing. Another materialised from the darkness and then another and for the first time, Paul felt reservations as to the speed of the huge ship. Supposing one appeared up ahead? As the thought occured, the vessel shifted suddenly to the right and Paul was forced to grab the railings to keep from losing his footing. He whistled a low whistle through his teeth as a gargantuan mass of ice passed by at a distance of ten feet, the chill emanating from it was palpable even at that distance.

Shaking his head and pulling his thoughts back to the task ahead, Paul turned to the left, still clinging to the barrier incase of another sudden change of direction, and gazed towards the door which concealed the two spiral staircases giving access down to the boiler rooms. He sighed a heavy sigh and puffed another breath of air from his cheeks, watching as it danced white infront of his eyes before being swept away in the ships draft.

It was with a heavy heart he made his way towards it, reluctant as he was to repeat his experience of earlier. He reached for the door handle, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers and furrowed his brows, eyeing the 'no entry' sign embedded in the wood. If only there was a way to get that steward away from the other door, this would be so much easier.

He pushed the heavy wooden door open but did not step inside, brought up short by an idea so simple he laughed out loud, thinking it a wonder he had not thought of it before. Chuckling at his own ineptitude, he pulled it closed again, clicking it back in the latch and turning back, he moved swiftly to the other door, the one he had stepped through not five minutes ago. Placed a shaky hand on the handle and took a deep breath. _Now or never._

He threw it open with all his might so that it banged against the wall and sprang back but he was already through by the time it slammed shut. Startled and wide eyed, the steward looked up.

'You have to help!' Paul cried, jogging towards him, doing his best to sound breathless.

The steward immediately straightened his stance. 'What's going on?' The poor man looked bewildered.

'A man's just collapsed on the promenade,' Paul said. 'I don't think he's breathing!'

'Good Lord!' The steward exclaimed. 'The promenade, you say?' He hurried from his post, giving Paul not a second glance. He pulled the door open and disappeared through the other side.

'Idiot,' Paul muttered quietly, smirking as he stepped up to the wooden door, trying the handle and, as expected, finding it locked.

Wondering how long it would take for the man to run the length of the promenade and back, Paul retreated a few steps and for the second time that day, rammed his shoulder against a locked door. The whole frame shuddered on his first attempt, this one built not as strong as the one of F-deck. The lock creaked ominously on his second attempt and on the third, splintered and cracked open so that Paul crashed successfully through to the other side. Thanking his lucky stars that this door was wooden and not steel like the immovable one two decks below, he picked himself up and surveyed the damage, feeling shocked at his own actions ... for a moment, then a wide grin crossed his face and he laughed loudly, shaking his head at his own audacity and wondering what Liam would say if he could see his brother now. He straightened his jacket and took off at a brisk pace, hoping to clock up a good deal of distance between himself and the young steward before he realised he'd been duped and returned to a gargantuan hole in the wall. Hoping the man would not find himself in too much trouble and vowing to own up later, Paul took the iron stairs down to E-deck, remembering them from when he had climbed them earlier and half-walked, half-ran towards the door at the far end of the deck. The one which he knew would give him access to Scotland Road. _I'm coming, Liam, _he thought to himself. _Where are you?_

* * *

><p>Liam got shakily to his feet. He was dizzy and disorientated though he clung with gusto to the thought that Tony Gordon would not be down there if he wasn't frightened of being rumbled, his plans scuppered. He balled his hand to a fist and raised it, ready to swing it for the Scotsmans face when another unseen blow was dealt, this time to his face. He tumbled back to the ground, fighting against the little black stars dancing before his eyes. He sensed rather than saw the other man standing over him, feeling him grasping at the lapels of his jacket and pulling his entire upper body off the floor.<p>

'Not so brave now, are you Connor?' a Scottish accent hissed in his ear.

Liam coughed great rasping coughs and gasped for breath, the acrid, metallic taste of blood prominant on his tongue. 'What ... have you done with her?' he rasped.

'You'll never find her,' the disembodied voice whispered. 'She's mine.'

'She's down here,' Liam breathed, 'isn't she?'

There was a pause. Liam got the sense the other man was mulling over his answer. 'What does it matter?' the voice asked quietly. 'Did you honestly think you were going to swan down here like a Queen's knight and rescue the fair maiden?' The Scotsman gave a harsh, barking laugh. 'Soon you'll be dead,' he whispered in Liam's ear. 'And you'll be nothing but a distant memory to her.'

'You think she wants you?' Liam spat. He clawed at the hands holding his jacket and mustered up as much scorn and disdain as he could.

'Even if she did, why would I want her?' Tony asked. 'She's tainted ... used ... dirty.' He leant his face closer to Liam's, his lips a hairsbreadth away from the Englishmans ears. 'I like them pure ...'

Liam brought his fist up with as much force as he could muster and struck blindly, connecting with a part of the Scotsman at which he could only guess. A howl of pain echoed around the space and Liam held his breath, hoping at least one of the workers may have heard. His vision was starting to clear and his sense of orientation, returning. Tony's hold on his jacket loosened and Liam fell back though quick as a flash, he was on his feet, shaking his head to clear the fog. _Get to the door_, was his only coherent though and without thinking, he acted on the words. His fingers clutched the handle and his heart leapt with elation as he yanked it open, throwing light on the scene but two strong hands clasped in an iron grip around his neck before he could take a single step and squeezed, effectively cutting off his air supply. Liam spluttered and threw his arms behind him, trying for some kind of purchase on the Scotsman but he artfully dodged every attempt, laughing loudly and savagely as Liam's face turned puce. He sputtered and wheezed over and over as he tried desperately to draw oxygen into his lungs but he could already feel himself growing weak, his body shutting down. The other mans laughter rang in his ears and his vision clouded as he gazed through the open door into the brightly lit cargo hold. _So close ..._

'Not a bad way to go, is it Connor?' The triumphant voice hissed in his ear. 'Playing the hero, rescuing the damsel ... or trying, as the case may be.' The words were echoey and distant, as though he were listening to them underwater. He felt weak, his arms were like lead but he knew now what he had to do. Had known the moment the Scotsman had forgotten his place and leant forward to taunt him, as he hoped he would. He lifted his elbow and with a force neither would have believed possible, rammed it into the other mans face, feeling a very satisfying crunch as his nose burst beneath it. Hot blood poured from the wound, spattering all over Liam who dropped to his knees as Tony let out a piercing howl and stumbled backwards, hands over his face.

Liam gasped and gulped, drawing as much oxygen into his lungs as was possible, feeling that no amount could ever be enough as he stretched them to their absolute capacity. He ran a hand over his neck, feeling it bruised and tender to the touch and let out a great hacking cough, wincing as his throat smarted. He could hear Tony behind him, writhing in agony, yelling expletives and he turned, fearful of another attack and with good cause as the Scotsman leapt blindly for him. Liam threw his arms up to stop Tony's full weight from crashing down on him and aimed a punch for his lower abdomen connecting with his ribs while Tony lashed out wildly, clawing at any part of the Englishman he could lay his hands on.

For a moment, chaos ensued. Two grown men grappling on the floor, a tangle of limbs as each tried to gain the upper hand but then Liam ended it all with a crashing blow to the other mans temple and Tony fell back, body limp as he lost himself to unconsciousness. Liam held onto his shirt for a moment, fist raised, ready to strike should the need arise but he was out cold and Liam allowed himself to fall back, bringing his knees up and tucking his head between them, taking deep, shuddering breaths and swallowing back the acrid taste of blood courtesy of his newly split lip.

He became aware suddenly of the sound of running footsteps from behind him but before he could turn to see what was happening, a pair of rough, masculine hands had grabbed him pulling him fiercly from Tony's limp form. He cried out in protest but struggled to find the energy to fight back.

'What the hell ...!' Liam heard the words and looked up into blue eyes glistening from a coaldust-blackened face. Relief flooded his heart and a wild laugh of sheer relief escaped his lips. He was safe. _Carla will be safe_.

'Want to explain what's going on?' another voice asked and a second face appeared next to the first, the eyes of which surveyed Liam who was glistening in the poor light, with fresh, wet blood before travelling to the limp form of Tony Gordon. Watching him, Liam had the strangest sense of recognition though from where, he couldn't quite put his finger on.

'Passengers aren't allowed down here,' the first man stated gruffly and Liam's eyes slid back to his.

'I know,' he said, wincing as his lip spasmed in pain. He raised a hand to dab at the blood, wondering as to the damage the rest of his face had sustained. His eye was blackened, of that he was sure.

'This man here,' he nudged Tony with a toe, the only part of him that could reach the unconscious man now. 'Tony Gordon. He abducted my girlfriend and brought her down here. He's been keeping her prisoner for almost two days.'

The eyebrows of the man holding Liam's arms disappeared beneath his hairline. 'Abducted, you say?' he asked, startled.

'Yes,' Liam pulled himself free and turned to face the two men. Leaning back on his heels, he launched into the full story, leaving out only the difference in his and Carla's social status, unsure whether or not that little confession would put him on the back foot.

The two workers listened impassively while Liam spoke, raising his voice to be heard clearly over the constant rumble of the engines, and remained so for a full minute after he had lapsed into silence. The first man was looking incredulous, regarding Liam with uncertainty.

The second, much taller man looked far more suspicious. 'Rubbish,' he said eventually and both sets of eyes jumped to him. 'I've met this one before, Ed,' he said to his colleague, his eyes never leaving Liam's. 'Early this morning,' he said in answer to the man called Ed's questioning look. With a horrible sinking feeling, Liam realised where the earlier jolt of recognition had come from and he closed his eyes, wishing he could rewind the clock. 'Landed a right sore one on me, he did.' He rubbed the sides of his nose as he spoke and Liam realised with an unpleasant jolt that what he had assumed, in the dim light from the distant furnaces, was coaldust, was infact a spectacular poppy bruise surrounding his left eye, travelling over the bridge of his nose to join with an identical one on the right and he winced, remembering how he'd knocked the man to the floor after he'd grabbed Paul. 'Violent tendacies, this one,' he said and the smaller man turned his head back around to gaze at Liam with suspicion now mirroring his colleagues.

Liam felt his heart falter, his palms turn sweaty as he realised he was losing any credibility he had with the younger one and knowing his and Carla's fate rested in their hands. 'Please believe me,' he pleaded. 'She's down here, I know it.'

'Where?' the bigger man asked gruffly.

'Through there,' Liam pointed behind him at the door to the cargo hold which was standing ajar, a slither of light protruding from around the frame..

'Go and check, Ed,' the tall man said. 'I'll keep an eye on this one.'

Liam tried to get to his feet to follow the man called Ed but a restraining hand on his shoulder pushed him back to his knees and so he settled for watching with earnest, heart thudding with anticipation, feeling oddly light-headed at the thought of holding her in his arms again. The young worker was gone maybe two minutes before he returned.

'Nothing there,' he said. 'Not a dicky-bird.'

'Thought not,' the other man said and his hold on Liam's shoulder became painfully tight as he pulled him to his feet. Liam complied, feeling his insides deflate. His shoulders slumped forwards and his lips trembled as he fought against the crushing disappointment. He'd been so sure ... Tony had been waiting on him, how could she not be ...?

'Let me check,' he blurted out, eyes on the door which was now standing open, throwing light on the scene. 'Please,'

'I don't think so,' the tall man snarled. He was pulling Liam away, towards the stairs while the younger of the two gazed down on Tony's limp form, clearly at a loss as to what to do with him. 'Stay here, Ed,' the voice above Liam's head barked. 'I'll be back for him once I've handed this one over to the stewards.'

Liam was still gazing at the door. 'Please let me check,' he said in a voice of forced calm.

'Not a chance.'

'But if you leave her there alone until the ship docks, she'll die!'

'Drop the pretense, eh?' the man intoned gruffly. 'Ed said there's no one there.' He was firmly manouvering Liam to the bottom of the twisting staircase, his strength no match for the smaller mans.

'He didn't look hard enough!' Liam barked. 'Carla!' He thrashed wildly against the bigger mans arms which had wound their way around his torso, locking him in their iron grip. 'Carla!'

'Give it up, would you? There's enough of a racket down here without you adding to it.'

Liam twisted and tugged, kicked the other mans shins, even sank his teeth into his forearm but, other than an angry grunt, got no response. The muscular arms held him tight. 'Let me go!' he demanded. 'Let go!'

'Not a chance!'

You heard the man,' a third voice spoke calmly but firmly and the worker stopped in his tracks, staring up at the man who stood on the third stair from the bottom, gazing at the scene before him with a calm serenity. 'Let him go.'

He hesitated a moment, regarding the newcomer before him with ambiguity. He was a well-dressed man, first class by the look of him, and small, not muscular like him but with an air of authority which was not to be ignored. His grip on the trespasser slackened slightly as, for the first time since he had heard the yells from further up the deck, he felt uncertainty creep up on him.

'Who are you,' he asked. 'Passengers aren't allowed ...' he trailed off, quailing under the mans stern gaze and Liam's heart leapt with elation as his grip relaxed further. Paul was playing a blinder.

'My name is Paul Connor,' he said crisply and clearly, eyes never leaving the tall mans. 'Son of Barrington Connor, fifth earl of Rosebury and richest man on board.' He descended three slow steps until he was standing on level ground with the other three. The young man called Ed was staring at Paul, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. He nervously pulled the cap from his head and fidgeted with it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

'Do as I say,' Paul went on, eyes narrowed precariously, 'Or I'll see to it that you never work for White Star Line again.'

The man shifted his gaze nervously from Paul's ferocious one to Liam's who was trying desperately to keep his face impassive while his insides leapt up and down, bounced from side to side in unadulterated joy. He looked back at Paul and with a grunt of displeasure, released his arms, roughly pushing Liam from him and staring obnoxiously at the newcomer. He drew himself up to his full height and gave a snort of disdain as he turned, calling on Ed who scuttled past, face red and head bowed.

Paul watched them go and turned back to Liam, wearing an ear-to-ear winning smile. He spread his hands out before him. 'Not bad, eh?' he asked. 'I obviously missed my calling. Should have been an actor.'

Liam a little shocked by the turn of events, gave a belated cry of joy and all but launched himself at his big brother, grasping him in a hug while Paul laughed and wrapped his arms around his brothers back.

'How did you -? I mean, why did-? How-?' Liam spluttered, pushing Paul away and holding him at arms length. 'I thought you'd gone back!'

'I did,' Paul told him, 'But you promised you'd come back tonight too and when you didn't I got worried so I came looking.'

'But the stewards ...?'

'Yeah ... we might want to keep a low profile from now on ...' he laughed. '... and I may have to pay for White Star Line to fit another door at the first class reception ...'

Liam puffed a breath of air from his cheeks and pulled his brother back into another embrace.

'How did you know I was down here?'

'I was wondering around F-deck,' Paul told him. I was just about to give up and head back, hoping you'd done the same when I came across the stairway to G-deck and I thought, what the hell? I was only going to poke my head around the door but then I saw that other door at the far end standing open and I just knew you must have come back down here ... so here I am.'

Liam gave an incredulous laugh. 'I've seen another side to you on this trip,' he told Paul. 'You've never been so bold or so defiant before.'

'I'm rather enjoying it,' Paul admitted sheepishly. He pulled away from the embrace and scrutinized Liam's face in a way that reminded Liam of their mother. 'Look at the state of you,' Paul murmured. He tutted as he took in the black eye and split lip though his expression turned to one of horror as he realised his little brother was covered, head to toe, in warm, wet blood.

'Not mine,' Liam told him quickly, seeing his brothers face pale. He gestured over his shoulder to where Tony was lying spark out, droplets of blood still escaping his burst nose.

Paul stared for a moment and winced. 'I'm glad that's not you,' he said.

Liam gave a snort and thumped his brothers upper arm. 'Me too, bro,' he said.

'Have you found her?' Paul asked.

'Believe it or not, Paul, I've been a little preoccupied with staying alive and trying not to get myself arrested because if either had gone the wrong way I'd be no help to Carla at all.'

'Well what we waiting for?' Paul asked. 'Through here, is she?' he started towards the door to the cargo hold but Liam grasped his arm, pulling around to face him.

'One question,' he said, eyeing his brother suspiciously. 'Who on Earth is the fifth earl of Rosebury?' he asked. 'Cause he sure as hell isn't our father ...'

Paul grinned and let out a sheepish laugh. 'Well I had to say something, didnt I?' he said. 'Just plain old Barry Connor from Manchester wouldn't have made quite the same impression, now come on,' he tugged on his brothers arm. 'Do you want to find this girl, or what?'

* * *

><p>Carla sat perfectly still, straining her ears, listening for the slightest sound, a sign of anyone other than the Scotsman. She had heard him ... her Liam ... he had called for her ... or had he? It had become so difficult to distinguish dreams from reality. Perhaps she had imagined the voice. Uncertainty creeped into her heart as she listened to the engines grinding away. Was she starting to hallucinate? She'd been residing in that souless space for so long after all. No ... there it was again! Liam's voice calling her name! He was out there!<p>

She tried to answer, tried to shout but the tape Tony had wrapped around the lower half of her face muffled all but the faintest whisper. There was nothing she could do but wait to be found, pray that he'd be thorough, checking through the extra storage rooms up the back and not just pop his head in and glance around the cargo hold.

For a while there was no sound other than the engines and her heart rate slowed gradually to a more regular pace. Her shoulders slumped and a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her already stained cheeks. If he was gone already then it was game up for her, she'd never be found. How many more days until they docked? and then what would Tony do with her? She could hardly see him letting her walk free, especially with the knowledge she now possessed as to his background. He was a man on the run. What was to stop him killing again to get away with the first crime?

She allowed her head to droop back to her chest in heart-breaking despair.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door and her head snapped back up, green eyes wide, full of promise.

'Carla?' a voice called and she felt she could combust with sheer joy and relief. It was him ... her Liam. He had come for her.

She did her best to answer, shouting through the gag but all that escaped was a muted whisper. She could hear another voice, male too. Liam was talking to him, his footsteps getting louder and when he shouted again his voice was so close, she strained against every bond holding her to that damned chair, longing to see him, to touch him again, to feel his hands on her, his lips.

Frantic to reach him, she thrashed against them, gritting her teeth against the shooting pains and muscle spasms as she put into use parts of her body that had been dormant for just shy of two days. The ropes held. Her hands and feet had gone numb, useless. _Don't leave me! _she wanted to shriek. _Don't leave me! _But in her mind he had already turned from the door.

In despair, she jerked her body sideways. The chair tipped, crashing to the floor, taking her with it and for a second, everything stilled. Then:

'In here!' she heard a voice call. It was not Liam's but it was comfortingly familiar all the same. She cried tears of relief as the door was flung open and two tall figures stood, side by side, framed by the light from the other side.

Liam crossed into the room. He took one look at Carla and murmured, 'My God ... ' At once he was kneeling at her side. Her hands were so numb, she scarcely felt it when he untied the cords binding her wrists and she clumsily pulled the tape from her mouth as he freed her ankles and reached back up to stroke her face, her hair ... any part of her he could. He lifted her from the floor, pulling her into his arms as he knelt by the chair and pressed his lips to hers. As she lay, sobbing in his arms, he kissed her lips, her hair, her face, murmuring her name over and over, as though he could not say it enough, could never say it enough.

Paul, who had been watching from the doorway, moved toward them and knelt by their side. His face was white, his hands shaking. 'We'de better move,' he murmured to Liam who had his lips pressed to her forehead, one hand on her hair, pressing her head to his chest. 'get her to a doctor.' He looked down at the sobbing girl and felt a stab of sympathy. He reached out and placed a tentative hand on her arm, squeezing reassuringly. 'Are you okay to move, Carla?'

She opened her eyes and Paul was startled by the intensity of them, their vivid green sparkling like jewels. She nodded her head and between the two boys, they pulled her gently to her feet. Liam kept an arm wrapped firmly around her waist, seeing she was a little unsteady and Paul stooped down to collect the bottle of water Tony had left on the floor. 'Here,' he said, handing it to her. She finished it in two gulps.

'Let's get out of here,' Liam said shakily. He could not take his eyes off her. Pale-faced and red-eyed as she was, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on and as they walked, he offered up silent thanks to God who had responded to his desperate prayers.

She looked up at him as they took slow, steady steps through the cargo hold. 'Your face,' she whispered. Her voice was throaty and hoarse. She raised a hand to stroke the dark bruise forming below his right eye and he sighed, feeling himself relax under her touch. 'It's nothing,' he murmured. 'I'm more worried about yours,' and his brow furrowed as he took in the large patch of dried blood protruding from under her hairline and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. He remembered the dark red staining the interior of the cabin and felt sick as he imagined her cracking her head against the steel and sliding unconscious to the floor.

Her fingers dropped to his split lip and fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she examined it. 'Tony?' she asked quietly.

He nodded his head. 'But he most definitely came off worse,' he grinned and she couldn't help but smile in reply. How she had missed this beautiful face ...

They stopped walking when they reached the engine room with the distant furnaces and Carla gasped when she saw the limp figure of Tony sprawled, out cold, on the floor, a circle of blood encompassing his head.

'Is he dead?' she asked.

'Unfortunately not,' Paul told her. He was standing over him, examining his face with a look of disgust. 'How did you manage this, Liam?' He nudged the Scotsmans head with his toe and recoiled as he took in the horrific sight of the burst nose.

'His face met my elbow,' Liam said dryly and Carla laughed at his bluntness.

'No kidding,' Paul said. 'Well ... I suppose we'de better take him up too. We can hand him over to the stewards and let them do with him what they will.' He took hold of Tony's limp arms and hoisted his upper body from the floor, stooping down and with a strength he most certainly did not look capable of, pulled the lethargic form over his shoulder and straightened up.

'Okay?' Liam asked, eyebrow raised.

Paul nodded his confirmation and Liam helped Carla cross to the stairs.

'I can carry you, if you like,' he said gently, watching as she gazed up at the door thirty feet above them.

She flashed him a reassuring smile. 'I can manage,' and so, one hand gripping the railing and the other holding her body firmly to him, he began to ascend, taking his time, making sure she was doing okay. He could hear Paul huffing away behind them and grinned as he turned and saw his brother struggling with Tony's limp form.

'Nearly there, bro,' he called back, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice and heard Paul mutter a few expletives in reply. He laughed cordially, his heart feeling lighter than it had in days and he stole a quick kiss from Carla's temple as she concentrated on her footing. She glanced up at him and her face broke into a wide grin, mirroring his own. He leant forward, eyes closed and with a rush of adrenaline, his lips captured hers, savouring the feeling he had so craved over the past few days.

'Don't mind me,' Paul called from behind them. He sounded breathless. 'I'll just hang about with the fifteen stone gorilla on my back ...'

Carla broke away, giggling and Liam smiled, ignoring the twinging in his lip, thinking to himself a more beautiful sound, he had never heard.

The ship diverged suddenly to the right and with a cry of shock, Liam was forced to grab the railing, one arm still encompassing Carla's waist, to keep from losing his balance and falling backwards.

'Woah ...' he heard from behind and he turned to see Paul just managing to keep his balance, eyes wide with fear.

'What the hell's happening?' Liam asked to nobody in particular. For a second there was silence, other than the grinding of the engines and then they heard it. A high pitched keening sound, ear-splittingly loud and metallic in nature. Liam screwed his face up against it, peering through the darkness to determine the source. The noise continued to echo long after it had desisted.

'What was that?' Carla asked nervously. She had wrapped an arm around Liam's waist and was pulling herself closer to him, grasping at his shirt tail with her free hand.

'I don't know,' he told her.

'Didn't sound good though,' Paul put in.

Then they heard the unmistakeable, bone-chilling sound of men roaring and bellowing in fear from some twenty feet below and that's when Liam saw it. The tidal wave of water crashing through the engine rooms, picking up everything in its path that was not nailed down, humans included, and tossing them about like rag dolls, destroying everything in its wake.

They stood rooted to the spot, blind panic keeping all three immobile as they watched the wall of water travel closer and closer ...

'RUN!' Liam roared and without a second thought, he charged forward, half dragging, half carrying Carla up towards the door ten feet above them, the only thing on his mind was getting her to safety. He took the steps three at a time, hoping his brother was following behind and launched himself forward, silently thanking Paul for leaving the door open. He stumbled through, pulling Carla with him and fell to the floor. Heard the door slam closed as Paul leapt through after him, unbelievably, still carrying Tony's mass over his shoulder. He dumped the prone figure to the floor and slid down himself. joining Liam and Carla who were gasping for air, trying to catch their breath and make some sort of sense as to what had just happened.

Paul was the first to speak. 'What ... the hell?' he breathed.

'We must have hit something,' Liam said.

'And gouged a bloody great hole in the side of the ship?' Paul asked incredulously. His eyes widened as he recalled the huge lumps of ice he had seen floating in the water. 'There was icebergs ...' he said. 'Huge ones.'

Carla's face had turned a pale, milky colour and her hands shook as she reached for one of Liam's. 'If you hadn't come for me ...' she whispered. 'Ten minutes later ...' and Liam felt his blood run cold at the very thought. He shook his head, inwardly telling himself not to dwell on what might have been. 'Thank God ...' he muttered, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. 'Thank God.'

'Are we sinking?' she squeaked into his chest, balling her fists in Liam's shirt.

Liam exchanged a worried glance with his brother over her head. 'Nah,' he said. 'Don't be daft.' He let out a gruff laugh, hoping to reassure her. 'This ship is unsinkable ...'


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi everyone! It's been a long time, I know, but in my defence I was away for a month and haven't exactly been 100 percent since I got back so this chapter is extra long (even by my standards) to make up for it. I did worry that it might be too long but Noeme persuaded me to post it anyway so if it takes you too long to read ... blame her :D**

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><p>'<em>Virtually<em> unsinkable,' Carla whispered. 'They said it's _virtually_ unsinkable.' She lifted her head from the warmth of Liam's chest to gaze fretfully into his eyes. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, unsure of how to respond though relishing the feeling of being able to hold her again, to touch her, to gaze into her startlingly green eyes. His own eyes creased as he smiled, knowing full well it was not the time nor the place but somehow, unable to stop himself.

A ghost of a smile past her own lips before she turned to Paul as his voice echoed around the small space, sounding louder than it was.

'Isn't it the same thing?' he asked. '_Virtually_ unsinkable?'

A crease appeared between her brows. 'It means there's no cast iron guarantee.'

'I remember reading something,' Liam said, 'about how they made it unsinkable.' Both pairs of eyes turned to him. 'Something about different compartments down there and how they could each be sealed if any water did get in to prevent flooding.'

'So they could just seal that section off and we'll be fine?' Carla asked.

Liam raised his shoulders and let them drop back in a shrug. 'I hope so,' he said. He reached around the back of her neck and pulled her to his chest, planting a kiss on her hair.

'Those poor men,' she whispered sorrowfully and Liam sensed rather than saw her tears. He tightened his hold, once again at a loss for what to say.

'We should probably get moving,' Paul said after a moment. 'We have to get him to the stewards,' he nudged Tony's limp arm with his big toe, 'and Carla to the doctors.' He smiled kindly at her.

'I don't need a doctor,' she mumbled into Liam's chest. 'I'm back where I belong now, I'm fine.'

'I think you do,' Paul told her gently. 'And in any case, I reckon Liam does too.'

At his words, Carla's head came up again and she re-examined Liam's face. Her fingers stroked the bruise forming over his right eye and dropped to his lower lip, her eyes following, swollen and red as it was. Liam winced as she traced her fingertip around it, feeling it smart at the contact and she hastily pulled away but he caught her hand before she could tuck it behind him and brought it back to his face, kissing her knuckles tenderly. 'Don't stop,' he whispered.

She smiled shyly as she remembered the night they had spent together in the empty cabin on C-deck and her cheeks pinked. Liam grinned down at her and she felt suddenly sure that he was remembering the same thing. Was that only two nights ago? It felt like an eternity, so much had happened since.

In her embarassment, she lowered her eyes, taking in his blood stained clothes and silently thanking God that the blood in question did not belong to him. Then quite suddenly, she froze. Her body stiffened in his arms. 'What's that?' she asked, spotting the angry red marks peeking out from under the collar of his jacket. He started at the unnatural tone of her voice and released her fingers from his grasp, opening his questioning eyes. Her hands dropped to his jacket and she made quick work of peeling it back to reveal the offending marks.

'Jesus, Liam!' Paul exclaimed. He pushed himself from the wall and shimmied forward on his toes to get a closer look. Liam reached for his collar, meaning to pull it back to its rightful place but Carla caught the fingers of one hand, Paul knocking the other away as he stared at his brother in horror.

'What happened?' Carla asked tearfully. She squeezed the hand she was holding with both of her own.

'It's nothing,' Liam mumbled, embarassed by the attention.

'Doesn't look like nothing,' Paul told him haughtily. 'It looks like someone got their hands around your neck and gave it a bloody good squeeze!' His face had turned pale, his ears red as they always did when he was angry.

'Tony?' Carla whispered.

Liam nodded mutely and Paul got to his feet, swung a ferocious kick at the unconscious mans abdomen, his foot colliding with a satisfying thud. Tony gave a grunt and three pairs of eyes watched wearily as the fingers of his left hand twitched but he did not wake up.

Carla turned her attention back to Liam, bringing his knuckles to her lips and kissing them gently, the way he had hers moments earlier. 'I'm sorry,' she said, closing her eyes against the tears which had pooled and were threatening to fall. 'I'm so sorry.'

Liam's brow furrowed as he reached for her face, stroking her cheek with the back of one hand while she rested her lips against the other. 'What are you sorry for?' he asked, at a complete loss.

'This is my fault,' she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Liam gave a bewildered laugh. 'How can any of this possibly be your fault?' he asked.

'Because I knew he wanted me,' she tilted her head towards Tony's limp form. 'And I still went back to that cabin. Maybe I led him on ...'

'Carla, the man is a deranged lunatic,' Paul told her firmly. 'If this is anyones fault, it's mine.'

'And how d'you work that out?' Liam asked.

'The way I behaved when you brought her to breakfast that day.' He bowed his head shamefully. 'I made everything ten times worse for you both and I'm sorry.'

'Like things weren't going to go that way anyway,' Liam scoffed. 'And if we're playing the blame game here I might as well add my tuppence worth.' He placed his fingers under Carla's chin and looked directly into her eyes. 'I handled the whole situation wrong ... and I'm sorry. I should never have taken you to breakfast that day. I should have fought harder to stop them from throwing you out or to get to you afterwards and I should _never_ have allowed you to go back to that cabin when we both knew Gordon was unhinged.'

The corners of Carla's mouth were tugging her lips upward in a smile. 'It doesn't matter,' she said as she shook her head gently from side to side. 'None of it matters now. It's over.' She angled her head to one side and tilted her chin upwards and just as she'd been hoping for, Liam's lips descended on hers, capturing them implicitly. She could feel his lower one swollen and hard and she took it between her own, sucking gently, running her tongue along it while he groaned in appreciation.

'Sorry to break this up,' Paul said dryly. 'Lovely as it is ... but I believe we may have a problem.'

Liam reluctantly pulled his lips from Carla's and turned to look at his brother. 'What?'

Without looking at either of his companions, Paul pointed to the bottom of the door through which they had just burst which was slowly but steadily leaking water from the other side.

'Shit!' Liam leapt to his feet, pulling Carla with him who was staring at the pooling water with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

'We have to move,' Paul said urgently.

'What about him?' Liam asked, eyes flickering to Tony and back.

Paul teetered for a moment, clearly unsure whether to leave him behind and run or heave his weight back over his shoulder. Decision made, he leant down, grabbing the other mans arms. 'Help me,' he said, and Liam grabbed one of the limbs, hoisting the man to his feet and holding him steady while Paul got a good grip of him.

'Okay?' he asked when the Scotsman was secure over his brothers shoulder.

'As I can be,' Paul replied, the strain evident in his voice, 'though he could definitely be doing with cutting back on the pies.'

Liam sniggered as he reached for Carla's hand. 'Okay to move?' he asked.

She was still staring at the water. 'We're going to sink, aren't we?' she asked shakily.

Liam gave her a fingers a reassuring squeeze. 'We don't know that,' he told her gently. 'And even if we are there are plenty of lifeboats up on the deck.' He kissed her temple where he'd just spotted the angry bruise formed when Tony attacked her after her escape attempt. 'Let's get him to the stewards first,' he nodded his head in Tony and Paul's direction,' and then we'll see what's happening.'

'Okay,' Carla agreed. Her face was white, the shadows under her eyes all the more prominent for it. She clutched at Liam's hand with both of her own, clinging to it like a lifeline. He swung an arm over her head, wrapping it around her waist and holding tightly as he helped her along. They made it as far as the steps to F-deck when Carla froze for a second time.

'Liam?' she whispered.

'What?'

'The engines have stopped.'

All three stopped walking as they stood, listening to the sound of silence.

'She's right,' Paul said. He grimaced as he shifted Tony's weight on his shoulder.

Liam released Carla's waist and pulled his hand from hers leaving her feeling bereft as he crossed to the one of the small portholes lining the wall and peered through the glass. 'We've stopped moving,' he said quietly. He turned his head and looked back towards Carla and his brother. Both were watching wide-eyed. Carla was trembling. 'Let's move,' Liam said. He grasped Carla's hand and ushered her back to the stairs, holding the door open for Paul.

Passengers were starting to gather on F-deck, several venturing out clad only in dressing gowns and night-wear. 'What happened?' seemed to be the question on everyones lips as they congregated in the corridor of third class cabins. Liam heard someone swear they had hit another ship. A young man nearby was telling anyone who'd listen that they were dropping anchor but what for he didn't know. Another passenger, who was claiming to be a sailor, assured everyone in the vicinity that the violent shuddering had just been a propellor snapping off and to stop making such a fuss.

'It was an iceberg!' a voice at the far end of the corridor piped up. The speaker was a middle-aged lady, stood in her pale pink dressing gown, rollers in her hair. 'I saw it through the porthole!' she cried pointing back through her door. 'A huge glistening wall of ice, smelled horribly of sulphur, and as we passed it, great blocks of ice came tumbling through the porthole and scattered across the floor!'

A great deal of muttering followed the womans statement, several people dived into her cabin to see the offending blocks of ice for themselves.

'An iceberg,' Carla murmured. She gazed up into Liam's powder-blue eyes. He did his best to hide his fear as he smiled down at her.

'Unsinkable,' he mouthed though his stomach knotted as he pictured the ice-cold water seeping out from under the door on G-deck.

A steward had appeared in the corridor and was immediately bombarded with questions. He was a tall man with a full head of dark hair, streaked with silver, and when he turned in their direction, Liam felt a jolt of recognition and a ripple of anger radiate through him. Square forehead, broad eyebrows, that large decisive nose - Bennet-Browne. He glanced sideways at Paul and saw his own abhorrence mirrored in his brothers expression.

'I don't know what's 'appened.' Bennet-Browne was saying. He was standing with his hands raised infront of him, palms facing the growing crowd. 'Though I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about, just keep to where you are and we will see.'

'Why have the engines stopped?' A man called over the heads of his fellow passengers.

'I can't answer that, sir, because I don't know myself.'

'What should we do?' a small woman standing not far from Liam and Carla asked.

'Best thing to do just now is go back to your cabins and if any instructions are issued myself or a colleague will let you know immediately.'

Ignoring the babble of voices, the man turned and reached for the door handle behind him but before he could pull it open and make good his escape, Liam was by his side, hand on his arm, fixing him with a furiously cold glare.

'Oh,' the man said, recognition flitting across his features followed by unmistakable guilt, 'it's yourself.'

'It is,' Liam said coldly.

Steward Bennet-Browne looked decidedly uneasy. His eyes flickered to the door and back as though wondering whether an escape attempt would still be feasible. He cleared his throat nervously. 'The search for the young lady is ongoing,' he said feebly, his chin quivering slightly. 'and as yet, there is no news.'

'No, I bet there's not,' Liam said, his voice a low growl. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He thrust his hands into his pockets to quell the urge to wrap them around the other mans neck. 'because I know damn well you've done nothing about it.'

'Sir, I can assure you -'

'We've got a present for you,' Paul interrupted. He had sauntered up behind Liam and deposited Tony's body unceremoniously at the stewards feet. 'For you,' he said with a sweet smile that did not extend to his eyes.

The steward looked down at the unconscious man and winced as he took in the burst nose, black eyes and blood soaked hair. 'Is that ... '

'Tony Gordon? Yes, it is. And he's all yours.'

'Did you do that to 'im?'

'I'd have done him lot more damage given half the chance,' Liam retorted calmly.

The stewards eyes travelled slowly from Tony's face to Liam's and back again. 'You do realise what you've done is against the law?' he asked slowly, enunciating every word distinctly. 'Assault is a serious offence.'

'More serious than abduction?' Paul asked smoothly.

'You have no evidence the girl has been abducted,' Bennet-Browne uttered slowly, eyes back on Liam. He puffed his chest out importantly, drawing himself up to his full, considerable height, 'and I'm afraid I'm going to have to detain you, sir, until we reach New York.'

Liam was quick, stepping out of reach of the stewards grasp before his fingers could close around his wrist. 'I have plenty of evidence,' he snarled. He glanced back to where Carla was standing, watching apprehensively. He beckoned her forward and she came at once, falling into his outstretched arms. He gripped her waist and kissed her hair. 'He had her tied to a chair in the cargo hold,' Liam told the man in a voice of forced calm. 'God only knows what he was planning on doing with her!'

The steward seemed taken-aback, his mouth falling open in surprise. He took a moment to scrutinize Carla, taking in her less than substantial frame, her limp hair and bruised temple. His eyes lingered on the dried blood on her neck before travelling up to her eyes, deeply undershadowed with exhaustion and strain. She recoiled from his interogative stare an closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to Liam's chest and concentrating only on the warmth of his body, so comfortingly close to hers and in that moment, the stress of the last few days, the ordeal she had been subjected to, the fear she had felt - was feeling now - and the sheer relief of being back in this mans arms caught up with her and all barriers dissolved. Tears rolled, hot and heavy, down her cheeks as she balled her hands into fists, gripping Liam's shirt like a lifeline.

Tears pricked the corners of Liam's eyes as he rested his chin on the top of her head and raised one arm from her waist to her shoulders, holding her to him in a vice-like grip.

Bennet-Browne shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets as he cast his gaze around the room, looking anywhere but at the sobbing girl before him. He had not been trained to deal with this. This entire situation was too far from his comfort zone. 'Look,' he said uncomfortably as her body convulsed with great heaving sobs. 'Maybe I could let it slide this one time ... because of ...' he trailed off and gestured to Carla. 'Maybe the bastard got what he deserved,' he muttered.

'That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say,' Paul told him cheerily and was rewarded with a scowl for his efforts. 'Anyway,' he smiled insincerely, 'we'll just leave him with you and be on our way.' He rested a hand on Carla's back, ignoring the way she flinched and Liam's subsequent frown directed towards him from over her head.

The stewards eyes widened in surprise. He took a step back towards the door, effectively blocking their way. 'Now 'ang on,' he said indignantly. 'What am I supposed to do with 'im?'

'Detain him for abduction and assault?' Paul suggested. 'Leave him there to be trampled? ... toss him overboard? ... I don't give a damn what you do,' He told him. 'Just keep him away from us.'

'Now 'ang on,' the steward said again, this time in anger rather than indignation. He reached for Paul's arm but missed as he stumbled to the right, gripping the doorframe to keep from falling over, eyes widening in bewilderment.

Carla's head lifted a few inches from Liam's chest as his weight shifted and Paul grabbed his arm unsteadily as the floor seemed to slope. And then she realised, it wasn't them who were listing. It was the ship.

For a moment, the entire corridor descended into silence. A silence so absolute, heavy with fear and uncertainty ... and with a flurry of movement, people started to dive for their cabins, intent on dressing properly and from the looks that were thrown Bennet-Browne's way, it was clear that his loud reassurances were falling on deaf ears. Panic was setting in.

Liam turned his attention back to Carla who had calmed a little. Her body had stilled, her tears ceased though her breaths were still coming in gasps. 'We okay to move?' he mumbled into the top of her head. She nodded her reply though made no effort to pull away.

Paul stepped toward them. 'C'mon, kid,' he said kindly. He took hold of her upper arm and made to pull her away but an unsavoury grunt from the man on the floor brought him up short. The three of them and the steward stared down at Tony who groaned again and flexed his fingers, bringing his hand to his head. His eyes flickered open.

'Time to go,' Liam said and between him and his brother, they helped an exhausted Carla to the door.

'Wait up! What am I supposed to do wi' 'im?' Bennet-Browne called after them.

'Not our problem,' Liam threw back over his shoulder. Paul turned as they reached the door and gave the steward a little wave, laughing as the mans eyes hardened in unreserved anger.

It looked as though the whole of F-deck had congregated in the dining rooms foyer. The crowd was thick and large as people, mostly in nightwear, circled around the few stewards, hungry for information.

'We'de better get upstairs,' Paul murmured, elbowing people unceremoniously out the way as he cleared a path through the crowd. 'If we _are_ going down there'll be a stampede when this lot realises. They may even shut the staircases off.'

'They wouldn't do that, would they?' Carla whispered.

'Put it this way,' Paul told her. 'There are twenty lifeboats, each with a capacity of about sixty to seventy people. There are over two thousand onboard.' He glanced sideways at her. 'You work it out,' he said dryly.

She stopped walking, gaping at Paul in horror while Liam fixed him with an exasperated stare over her head. 'Thanks for that,' he mouthed. Paul grimaced.

'But there are thousands of lifebelts and at least fifty life rings,' he added, hoping to placate her. 'And anyway, who says we're going down?' he asked with an air of absolute confidence. 'The stewards are all saying we're fine and there's no reason to contradict them, is there?'

'But the water -'

'Is probably only in one or two compartments at most.'

'Let's just keep going,' Liam said. Keen to take her mind off this fresh horror. 'We'll get you up to our suite and then figure out what to do.'

Paul nodded his agreement and took her arm again. They pushed their way through the crowds and stepped out onto the promenade, the ice cold air taking their breath away as they left the warmth behind.

Up the iron stairs to E-deck they went where whooping and jovial laughter could be heard from straight ahead. A small crowd had gathered, maybe ten or fifteen men, who were kicking about a lump of ice like a football. More laughter could be heard from above as people on A, B and C-decks watched appreciatevely from their own berths.

As they reached the door to the first class reception, Liam let a low whistle escape through his teeth. 'Jesus, Paul,' he said as he examined the splintered lock and the door hanging from it's hinges.

'Did you do this?' Carla asked in amazement. She let out a giggle as Paul nodded, his ears turning red.

'I didn't know you had it in you, bro,' Liam said proudly.

'Neither did I,' Paul murmured. 'I'm learning things about myself on this trip.'

'You're not the only one.' Liam was regarding his brother with something akin to new found respect and so, to hide his glowing face, Paul pushed the door out the way and entered the first class reception.

'It's safe,' he called back. 'No stewards in sight.'

Liam ushered Carla through the doorway and into the reception which was eerily quiet after the commotion down on F-deck though voices could be heard from up above enquiring loudly as to why they had come to a standstill for a short while. As they made their way up the stairs, Liam couldn't help but feel impressed by how the first class stewards were handling the situation. They appeared to be calm and collected, answering questions with an air of such confidence he had to wonder if they knew the full extent of the damage themselves or if they were just repeating what little they had been told. He decided on the latter.

The decks and corridors were beginning to fill with people hungry for information, grabbing hold of stewards and quizzing them or other passengers, knocking on the doors of their friends or family to alert them to what was going on.

'You'd better keep your head down,' Paul murmured to Liam, eyeing his brothers split lip and darkening bruises. 'If anyone see's you looking like that ...' He left the sentence hanging as Liam bowed his head and concentrated on his shoes, hoping nobody would comment on the less-than-pristine condition of their clothes.

The growing number of people milling around made it easier for them to pass by unnoticed and before long they had reached the suite on A-deck. Looking swiftly from left to right, Paul unlocked the door and entered, Liam ushering Carla in after. He guided her over to a pale golden armchair in the corner and she sank into it gratefully, feeling the fatigue from the last few days catch up with her. Liam disappeared to the ensuite and returned with a porcelain bowl of lukewarm water and a sponge which he set carefully at her feet. He lowered himself to his knees and gazed up at her face, wincing at the darkening bruises along her hairline.

'Clean you up a bit,' he murmured as he wrang the sponge out and pressed it gently to her forehead, washing away the dried blood and with it, the stress of the last few days. She closed her eyes contentedly and allowed her body to relax, sinking further into the soft folds of the armchair, her mind drifting away to the beckoning blackness.

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><p>She awoke with a start and for a moment, couldn't think what was happening, didn't know where she was. She sat up and searched the room frantically with her eyes, feeling a familiar panic well up inside her. Idly, she wondered what had jolted her awake. A figure emerged from the ensuite and Carla relaxed as Paul flashed her a grin.<p>

'Welcome back,' he said. He had changed into fresh clothes, the skin of his face pink where he'd scrubbed it.

She sank back down into the cushions and offered him a small smile in return. 'How long have I been asleep?' she asked.

'Only about ten minutes,' Paul answered.

There was something different about her surroundings, something comfortingly different, and Carla frowned as she eyed the plush interior of the suite. It was something she couldn't quite put her finger on ...

'Your fella's over there,' Paul nodded to the large bed behind her, 'If that's what your looking for.'

Carla turned and couldn't help but smile at the sight of Liam lying on his back, fully dressed, long legs dangling off the end of the bed, as he snored gently. She pushed herself wearily to her feet, feeling just about every muscle in her body protest at the movement, and grimaced as she half-limped towards him.

'Oh!' she cried out as she reached the foot of the bed. She whirled round to face Paul, realising suddenly what had changed while she slept. 'The engines have started!' she exclaimed.

His face split into another wide grin. 'I told you we'de be fine.'

'We're moving again?'

'That, we are,' he confirmed.

Glorious, sweet relief coursed through her tired body as she sank onto the mattress and allowed an exhausted laugh to escape her lips. She raised a hand to cover her mouth and closed her eyes, reveling in the sheer relief and silently thanking God that all had appeared to have worked out for her. She was safe from Tony, she was back in Liam's arms and in only two days time she would take her first steps on American soil. She would start a new life and forget all about Tony Gordon. When she looked back on _Titanic_, she would do so fondly, remembering only the good bits. That first meeting down on D-deck ... dancing in the first class lounge ... the first night spent together on C-deck ...

A sharp, familiar rap sounded from the other side of the door and Carla knew instantly that this was the very noise which had awoken her.

Paul frowned as he gazed at it. 'I thought I heard someone there,' he muttered as he pulled out his pocket watch. 'It's almost midnight.'

He crossed to the door and pulled it open an inch as Carla turned her attention back to Liam. His mouth was hanging open as he slept, his face slack but even bruised and bloody, it was still the most beautiful face she had ever seen and she smiled as she lowered herself to her elbow, sank a hand into his soft hair. He grunted and murmured her name, a flicker of a smile passing hs lips.

A commotion sounded behind them and the door was thrown open with an ear-splitting bang despite Paul's loud protests. There was a moment of silence, then: 'You!' a voice screeched and Carla leapt to her feet as though she had just received an electric shock whirling around to face Helen Connor, heart thudding against her ribs. She was dressed in an ivory frock embellished with a very feminine lace and all kinds of sparkling gems, none of which Carla could name, though her hair was tousled, her make-up non-existant giving her the appearance of having dressed in a hurry. Her blue eyes, the exact shape and colour of Liam's but with none of their warmth, bulged as she glared at Carla with such malevolance the younger woman dropped her stunned gaze to her bare feet, wondering idly who had removed her shoes. Hands gripping one another behind her back, she felt like an errant child standing before an angry governess.

'What?! ... How?!' Helen turned her furious glare on her eldest son and then down to Liam, lying on the bed, before shifting it back to the offending woman. 'I thought we put paid to this nonsense!' she spluttered.

'Let me explain, mother,' Paul said, taking a step forward.

'I trusted you, son,' a quiet voice said from the doorway and Carla glanced up in surprise, not having noticed another person in the room, to meet the icy gaze of Barry Connor. He too looked as though he had dressed in a hurry, his white hair tousled as though he had just risen from bed. He turned his gaze back to his son. 'You were supposed to make sure this didn't happen.' Disappointment was evident in his tone. Behind him, their daughter, Michelle, stared at Carla with large dark eyes.

'I did try,' Paul said quietly. His ears were glowing a brilliant red. 'But Liam was so miserable, father. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping ... he wasn't even talking. He would have made himself ill.'

'I'd rather see him sick and honourable than perfectly healthy and cavorting with a common tart like _her_,'Helen growled in a dangerously low voice, spitting the last word from her lips as though it had caused her great offence.

Carla felt hot tears spring to her eyes at the other womans words. She blinked them away furiously and lifted her head to stare back defiantly. Who did this woman think she was, laying down the law?

'I'm not sorry,' the words escaped her lips before she'd had a chance to check them. Her cheeks flushed pink as all eyes turned to her but she refused to lower her gaze, staring first into Helen's cold eyes then moving onto Barry's. 'I love Liam,' she went on, speaking slowly and clearly. 'And I'm not sorry.'

I'd expect nothing less from someone like _you_,' Helen spat. She lowered her eyes to Carla's bare feet and travelled them slowly back up to her face, taking in every inch of the younger womans frame, her face a picture of disdain. 'You've probably got six or seven on the go at once, haven't you? Keeping them sweet ... accepting pretty gifts ... telling them you love them and then disappearing off to meet the next -'

'It's not like that at all -'

'I've got your number, lady,' Helen said coldly. 'And I will not stand here and watch you humiliate my son.'

'I think it's best you leave then,' a voice said coolly. Carla jumped, having not realised Liam was awake, nor standing behind her. 'That way you won't have to watch.' He placed a hand on Carla's waist, snaking it around her front until his fingers reached right around her, effectively holding her to him. His eyes never left his mothers.

'Liam ...' Helen breathed. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock as she took in her youngest sons appearance. 'What ... what happened?' she whispered, momentarily forgetting about Carla in the face of this fresh horror. She took a few tentative steps toward him, reaching out to stroke his uninjured cheek, tears pooling in her eyes. Michelle let out an audible gasp as she stepped out from behind her father and got a good look at her brothers face. Liam's eyes found hers and he flashed her a quick reassuring smile, telling her silently that he was okay.

Helen had withdrawn her hand and dried her eyes which were now boring into Carla's. 'This is your fault!' she all but screeched. She looked utterly deranged with her usually perfect hair falling in loose strands around her face, her eyes wide and mad. 'I don't know how but you had something to do with this!' She raised a hand as though to slap the younger woman but Liam caught her wrist before she could make contact, his eyes blazing with fury.

Helen's own eyes flickered back to Liam's. She looked utterly shocked at her sons audacity, her face drained of all colour as she stared into his eyes, imploring him silently to see sense.

'Leave,' he said firmly. 'Now. I won't have you upsetting Carla,' he could feel her body trembling beneath his fingers. 'She's been through enough already,' he said quietly.

'She's been through enough?!' Helen squawked. 'What about what your poor father and I have been going through?'

Voices could be heard in the corridor, through the open doorway, shouting indistinguishable words. Barry glanced back and as though awakening from a trance, pushed himself suddenly from the doorframe and crossed the room, taking hold of his wifes arm.

'We came here for a reason, Helen,' he said firmly. 'I think this particular argument can wait for now, dont you?' He eyed the dark line of bruises along Carla's hairline and the deep shadows beneath her eyes.

Helen huffed but kept her mouth shut.

'Everyone's congregating up on deck,' Barry told them. 'Apparently there's some sort of problem with the ship, nothing to worry about I'm sure,' he went on, 'but the stewards are taking no risks.' He hesitated a moment, looking a little uneasy. 'We've to wear lifebelts.'

At precisely that moment, a tall, well-built steward appeared in the doorway, carrying an armful of life-preservers. He surveyed the scene before him without so much as batting an eyelid. 'If you could make your way to the boatdeck, folks,' he said, 'and wear one of these,' he lifted his arm to show them the large, ghostly white garments. 'You'll find them under the beds.' He hesitated a moment, a crease appearing between his brows as his gaze shifted from one bed to the other then around all six of them. 'You'll be needing extra,' he muttered, counting out four and piling them by the door. 'Soon as you can,' he said, bestowing them a swift smile before moving onto the next room.

'We had best get moving,' Barry muttered. His face had considerably paled. He crossed to the door and retrieved the four life-jackets, tossing one to either of his sons and helping his wife and daughter into the third and last. Paul threw his aside and dived under the bed for the other two while Liam thrust his over Carla's head, ignoring the disapproving tut from his mother. He gazed into her stark, green eyes as he tightened the straps and saw her fear bubbling just below the surface. He flashed her a quick smile and wrapped his arms around her, holding her body rather awkwardly to his, the jackets bulk getting in the way. He kissed the top of her head. 'I won't leave you,' he murmured in her ear.

'Are we sinking?' she whispered into his chest. Her voice shook with fear and shock.

'I don't know,' he answered honestly. 'I don't know.'

'Liam,' Paul called. He released Carla and caught the life-jacket Paul tossed his way, thrusting it over his head and securing it around his waist then he strode to the wardrobe and pulled it open, disappearing for a moment and reappearing with several black dinner jackets over his arm. He tossed a couple to his father who wrapped them around Helen and Michelle's shoulders. He was wearing his own jacket though he was under no illusions that it would keep out the cold. It was, however, better than nothing. Paul caught one and thrust his arms down the sleeves as Liam wrapped another tightly around Carla before donning his own.

'Let's go,' he said.

The corridors, vestibules and landings were beginning to fill with curious and concerned passengers, some wearing their life-jackets, others carrying them. Most seemed satisfied that restarting the engines meant there was nothing much to worry about, reassured by the throbbing from below decks, even if it was only half as perceptible as it had been before. They greeted one another, chatting as though nothing was happening, presuming this to be a drill or an unnessecary precaution.

The story was the same outside. A handful of passengers had ventured out despite the bitter cold, curiosity getting the better of them but they seemed perfectly reassured by the progress the ship was making. Two or three were even laughing at the situation, enjoying the break in the monotony, treating the entire thing as a joke.

Liam walked over to the rail and turned up the collar of his coat. He leaned over but saw only the black sea, calm as a garden pond. Then he looked fore and aft. The boat deck from the raised roof over the first-class smoking room to the wheelhouse forward of the officers quarters was almost totally deserted. The handful of passengers on the deck had evidently decided they were wasting their time and had retreated back to the warmth. It was difficult to blame them really, when all seemed normal up here. Smoke drifted lazily from the forward three of the four large funnels, lights shone through the windows of the lounge and reading room, illuminating several games of Bridge and the odd passenger enjoying a Scotch and his own company.

_Yes, _Liam thought._ All a fuss over nothing_.

Barry was gesturing to a tall, dark-haired man with a very prominent, bushy moustache who was walking their way, footsteps thudding on the empty deck. He wore a pristine black suit over a pair of pyjamas, his hair tousled, carpet slippers on his feet. His face arranged into the most serious of expressions but he smiled, however forced, when he recognised Barry, making his way over to him, greeting him like an old friend. Liam was at too great a distance to hear whatever words were exchanged between the pair though after a moment, the dark-haired man turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. Barry gestured on the rest to follow him and they slowly made their way along the deck, bypassing the barrier which divided the officers promenade from that of first-class and into a room further along. This end of the deck was absolutely deserted, being off-limits to all passengers, though urgent voices could be heard from not far off.

'This is Mr Joseph Bruce Ismay,' Barry introduced as the whole family filed into a small, pleasantly furnished room which looked to be some sort of office though boasting comfy sofas rather than chairs. 'Chairman and managing director of White Star Line. Mr Ismay this is my wife, Helen; sons, Paul and Liam; daughter, Michelle and ...' his eyes lingered on Carla for a moment, unsure of what to say.

'Miss Donovan!' Mr Ismay exclaimed in delight, his entire face coming to life. 'We meet again!' he crossed to where Carla was standing, wrapped in Liam's arms, and took her hand, bringing it to his lips as Helen and Barry looked on in astonishment.

Carla smiled shyly. 'Hello,' she said quietly. Her cheeks had turned a delicious pink.

Mr Ismay frowned as he eyed the bruising to her face and her gaunt appearance before turning his gaze on Liam, the crease between his eyes deepening as he took in the split lip and black eye. Wisely, he decided not to comment.

'She's quite a dancer this one,' Mr Ismay grinned. He hadn't yet released Carla's hand.

'You ... you've met ... before?' Helen stuttered.

'Why, yes,' Mr Ismay said. 'Two nights ago, I believe.' He turned to face Helen, who looked like she'd been slapped across the face, and Barry who was eyeing Carla wearily. Paul was trying not to laugh. 'Your son is marrying a fine woman,' he said, inclining his head toward Helen.

Her face immediately darkened. 'They're not getting married,' she said coldly.

Mr Ismay glanced up, his eyebrows raised in surprise. His cheeks flushed a pale pink. 'My apologies, dear lady,' he said. 'I just assumed ...' He glanced back to where Carla and Liam were standing, his arms holding her from behind while he glared at his mother.

Mr Ismay cleared his throat and had the grace to look embarrassed. 'Erm ...' he began. 'Mr Connor, you wanted a word?'

'Indeed, I did,' Barry nodded, wrenching his gaze from Carla's pink face and focussing instead, on Ismay's. He cleared his throat. 'You and I go back a long way Joseph,' he said, 'and you know that Helen and I supported you whole-heartedly when you took over this company.' Ismay nodded solemnly. 'Even going so far as to accompany you on _Olympics_ maiden voyage though we had no real need to visit America and so I would like for you extend some of that courtesy back to us ... and tell us the truth.' He paused, giving his words a chance to sink in. 'Are we in some kind of trouble?'

'The truth,' Ismay repeated faintly. His eyes were on the ceiling as he drew a deep breath and puffed it from his cheeks.

'Is _Titanic_ sinking?' Barry pressed. Silence still. 'What in God's name is happening?!' Barry growled, ignoring the dark look which crossed his wifes face at his outright blasphemy.

Ismay lowered his eyes to meet Barry's and gazed at him, head tilted slightly to the side as though weighing up his options. He ran his tongue over his pristine teeth and pursed his lips, cleared his throat before speaking. His shoulders sagged somewhat. 'We've struck ice,' he said gravely. Eyes bright and fearful, never leaving Barry's.

There was silence for a second. Then: 'Is it serious?' Barry asked with unconcealed urgency. 'Is she damaged?'

Ismay hesitated. His eyes flickered to Helen's and back. 'Yes,' he answered tersely. 'On both counts.'

'How did we manage to hit an iceberg?' Helen asked faintly. Her face had drained of any colour which remained.

'The circumstances are still somewhat unclear, madam.'

'But didn't we see it?'

'I assume not, dear lady.'

'But aren't there people onboard whos job is purely to keep a lookout for icebergs?'

Ismay's blazing eyes betrayed his calm exterior, his black moustache almost bristling with irascibility as his fingers fidgeted behind his back. 'As I said, madam, the circumstances are still unclear.'

Helen looked like she wanted to argue further but her husbands firm hand on her shoulder persuaded her otherwise and she settled instead, for fixing Ismay with a withering stare. The man cavorted with _steerage_ passengers, of all people! He had most definitely dropped several notches in her opinion.

'You said it was serious,' Liam said into the silence. His voice was quiet, almost ethereal.

Ismay turned to look at him, seeming relieved to be out of Helen's line of vision. 'We clipped the starboard side,' he said.

'Clipped?' Liam asked. That didn't sound so serious to him.

'Yes, sir. The tear in her side is not overly large but stretches a fair distance. At first we thought the pumps would be able to expel any water taken on while we head to the nearest land -'

'Which is where, incidentally?' Barry interjected.

'Halifax, Nova Scotia, sir. Around 450 miles North-West of our present position. Like I said,' he went on, turning back to Liam, 'at first we thought the damage was minimal and we could proceed steadily albeit slowly.' He paused and licked his lips, swallowed nervously. 'But the flooding is far more severe than first thought. _Titanic_ can cope with water in four of her compartments, sir.'

'And how many are flooded?' Barry asked faintly.

'Six.'

'Six?' Helen squeaked. Her hand flew to her mouth, blue eyes - so like her sons - widened in undisguised fear. Her earlier derision with the man forgotten.

'Far more than the pumps can handle,' Ismay said gravely. His dark eyes were downcast. He drew a deep breath, exhaling heavily, looking for all the world like a man condemned.

'What are the implications of that, Mr Ismay?' Barry asked, drawing himself up to his full height, pushing back his shoulders as though bracing for an impact.

'The implication, Mr Connor, is that she will sink.'

The words spoken almost casually and yet with the utmost seriousness, seemed to hang in the air for several seconds.

Then Michelle burst into tears. She had been silent throughout the entire exchange, her fearful eyes growing wider and wider, darting back and forth between her father and the companies director, not quite believing what she was hearing and yet doubting not a word.

Paul went to her and enveloped her in a hug, drawing her head tightly to his chest, bestowing light kisses on her hair. He glanced over to Liam who stared right back, mouth slightly open as though in shock.

It was Carla who spoke first. 'How long?' she asked in a hoarse whisper. 'How long have we got, Mr Ismay?'

Ismay tilted his head to the side as he watched her pale face turn, if possible, even whiter. There was a moments silence before he spoke. 'My dear lady,' he said as behind him, Helen's face darkened. 'There is another problem.' He looked suddenly weary, every day his forty-nine years.

'Surely any other problem would pale in comparison?' Liam whispered.

'The bulkhead had been blazing since departure from Belfast,' Ismay said. 'It had caused no serious problem,' he added quickly as both Paul and Liam opened their mouths in shocked outrage. 'At worst it has been a mere nuisance, but now ...' Ismay swallowed again. 'There is a possibility the bulkhead may burst. If it holds, she may last until morning. If it doesn't ...' he glanced at each person in turn, '... a few hours at best.'

Helen sank onto a sofa behind her, head in hands. Michelle's sobs increased in volume as she buried her face in her brothers chest. Liam just felt numb.

'There are reports of lights in the near distance,' Ismay went on quietly. 'We're trying to make contact. With any luck we'll be rescued before our situation becomes too serious.'

'In the meantime you must start loading passengers onto lifeboats,' Barry told him solemnly. 'Get as many souls to safety as is possible.'

Once again, Ismay looked uneasy. The thin line of his lips twisted into a grimace. 'I'm afraid there is yet another issue, Mr Connor.' His seemed to shrink visibly on the spot.

'What now?' Barry asked, his voice taking on a tone of tired disbelief.

Ismay closed his eyes and pursed his lips. A hint of pink tinged his shockingly white cheeks. He looked, to Liam's mind, as though he were wishing the floorboards would part and swallow him whole.

'There's not enough lifeboats to carry everyone on board,' Carla said hoarsely, remembering Paul's words from earlier. Her eyes flitted to him and back to Ismay's as every other gaze in the room turned to her.

Helen let out a very unlady-like snort. 'Don't be ridiculous, girl,' she scoffed. 'Not enough lifeboats indeed. What would someone like _you_ know about it?

'Far more than you obviously,' Carla retorted, her voice a little stronger. 'Paul pointed it out to me and now I've seen the number of lifeboats on this side of the ship. If the same number is true of the other side then there cannot be enough room for half -'

'Your opinion means nothing to us decent people,' Helen spat with such venom, Ismay took a step back in alarm. 'You're nothing but a wretched little whore who struck gold in my gullible son! Inferior to us citizens of first class!'

'I'm no whore,' Carla defended herself quietly. 'Though I'm not denying I struck gold in your son.' Helen's eyes widened in triumph and she looked pointedly to her youngest son, a smug smile crossing her lips. 'Though when I say 'gold' I'm not talking monetary value.'

Helen turned her gaze back on Carla and screwed her face up as though she were sucking on a lemon. 'Your sort knows nothing but monetary value,' she retorted scornfully. 'Why don't you do us all a favour and toss yourself overboard, save a place on a lifeboat -'

'Shut up!' Liam spat furiously. He stared at his mother in blatant disgust. 'For once in your sheltered little life, mother, stop being so selfish and open your eyes! Carla's right, we have enough lifeboat capacity for less than half the people on board. Don't you understand what that means?'

Helen was looking, for the second time that night, as though she'd been slapped across the face. Her knuckles gripped the sides of the plush red sofa she was perched on, her eyes bulging toward her youngest son. Carla had to hide a smile as she wondered how many times in her life Helen Connor had been told to shut up.

'It means half the people on this ship are going to die!'

Helen swallowed twice, regaining as much of her composure as was possible in the circumstances. 'Not the better half,' she said faintly.

'That, mother, is debatable.'

'I'm afraid the young lady is correct,' Ismay interjected sorrowfully, effectively putting an end to any further sparring. 'There is not enough space by half.'

Barry gaped at the director, flabbergasted. His mouth hung open, eyes disbelieving. 'But ... but how can that be?' he spluttered.

'We have the minimum number we are required to carry by law,' Ismay told him in a small voice. 'A ship like this is designed to be her own lifeboat. Many were left behind in Belfast to keep from spoiling the view on the boat deck. Almost everyone believed them to be a waste of space and so you see, Mr Connor, we have something of a dilemma on our hands.' He paused for a deep, steadying breath. 'If we allow everyone up to the boat deck believing there is enough space for them all, we may find ourselves with a riot on our hands when they realise there is room for only half of them.'

Barry ran both hands through his hair. His eyes were red and tired, fixed unwaveringly on Joseph Bruce Ismay's. 'I can't believe it's come to this,' he said hoarsely. 'How could you have let this happen?'

Ismay bowed his head but offered no words for his defence.

'Start with the women and children,' Barry said quietly. His blue eyes had left Ismay's, were concentrated on the floor by the mans feet. 'That way, if half of us are going in the water it will be the physically stronger half who will have a far greater chance of survival.'

Ismay was nodding slowly. He looked numb, his own eyes red and exhausted. 'I believe that is the best thing to do,' he said.

A silence descended, broken by Helen who was eyeing Carla with undisguised loathing. 'How about if you -'

'If you're about to suggest the evacuation of first class only, so help me mother ...' Paul said.

'Paul,' Helen began indignantly, her blue eyes turning on her eldest son in an appeal. 'Surely you can see -'

'If I've learnt one thing on this trip,' Paul interrupted loudly, 'it's that a human life is a human life regardless of how many pounds that particular person is worth.' He smiled over at Carla who blushed scarlet and offered him a timid smile in return while Helen had the grace to look ashamed.

'Well said, young man.' Ismay clapped Paul hard on the back while Liam grinned.

'Who'd have thought it?' he said. 'My big bro descending from on high to meet with working-class standards.'

Carla swatted his chest as she laughed. Paul pulled a face at him while Michelle hid her own as her lips quirked upward. Even Barry allowed them a gentle smile.

'May I suggest you get yourselves out on deck,' Ismay said with gravity, bringing them back to the crushing reality of the situation, 'and get Mrs Connor and the girls into a boat before they fill?'

'No,' Carla said immediately, all eyes finding her as she turned in Liam's arms to face him. 'I'm not leaving without you.' She gazed up into his beautiful blue eyes with a look of stubborn determination. 'I'll stay right here with you.'

Liam smiled gently, his eyes crinkling in affection. 'Where's the sense in that?' he asked as he reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

'I won't lose you again,' she whispered.

'Miss Donovan,' put in Ismay from behind. 'I really cannot stress enough how important it is to get yourself into a lifeboat and as far away from the ship as possible because when she goes down she'll create a vortex which will suck everything nearby down with her, including any boats that haven't managed to put enough distance between themselves and it.'

'I don't care,' Carla said, reaching up and curling her fingers around the back of Liam's neck. 'I'm not going.'

Liam frowned, a deep crease appearing between his eyes. 'We'll see,' was all he said.

'If you good people will excuse me,' Ismay said with a courteous bow, 'I have other matters which must be attended to.'

'Of course,' Barry said as Ismay made for the door. 'And thankyou, Joseph,' he called after him, 'for being so honest.'

Ismay turned and looked to Barry with moroseful eyes, his face ashen. He seemed to have aged ten years in under a minute. 'My pleasure, Barry.' He inclined his head and turned to the door, reaching for the handle but not quite touching it. He hesitated a moment, turned and took several steps back into the room until he was standing directly infront of Liam and Carla. He reached out and placed a gentle, almost fatherly, hand on Carla's shoulder, bestowing her a genial smile. 'It's been a pleasure, Miss Donovan,' he said in a quivering voice. He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. 'I hope someday I may have the honour of another dance.'

Carla allowed him a small smile and touched his arm with the tips of her fingers while Helen looked on affronted.

'Good luck to you,' he said. He gazed once more around the room. 'Good luck to you all.'

And with that, he was gone ...

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><p><strong>If you made it to the end, congratulations :D Thankyou for reading, reviews are very much appreciated.<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, firstly I have to apologise for taking so long to update this. I hope there's still a bit of interest out there. I promise the next chapter won't take so long.**

**Secondly, I had real trouble writing this. I couldn't seem to get it right and I'm still not convinced it's all that good but I'm sick of going over it lol so please have a little read and tell me what you think :)**

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><p>Out on deck the noise had reached near deafening levels and conversation was almost impossible over the sound of escaping steam blasting into the frozen night air from three of the four enormous funnels. Liam screwed his face up against the din as he exited the officers room some way behind Ismay and stepped onto the private promenade, hand intertwined with Carla's as he pulled her along behind him. Figures were visible further along on the first class area pulling the canvas covers from the lifeboats, fitting in cranks and uncoiling lines, readying the boats for filling and lowering while small groups of uneasy passengers watched, huddled together for warmth.<p>

The ship had once again, come to a standstill and Liam noted with alarm the angle at which they were sitting, using the sky as a guide, the tilt was clearly visible. His stomach flipped discomfitingly as he imagined the sheer horror of plunging into the ice cold waters some seventy feet below and he shuddered, hoping it was an experience he would never have to endure and certainly not in the next few hours.

Paul, who had an arm wrapped tightly around a shivering Michelle's shoulders, was shouting something incoherent over her head, attempting to make himself heard over the din. He watched as Liam frowned and shrugged his shoulders in reply having understood not a word and instead, gestured with his head as he set off towards the first class promenade, ushering his little sister along with him. Liam looked to Carla who calmly offered up a small smile though her tellingly wide eyes betrayed her cool stance, and then to his parents behind them who looked to be in shock. Helen did not even seem particularly perturbed by the presence of a third class passenger anymore. Her eyes were fixed unmovingly on the still black of the water far below, both hands clutching one of her husbands tightly as though scared he'd disappear into the night if she let go.

Liam turned back, inhaled a deep breath and puffed the air from his cheeks as he set off after Paul.

It quickly became evident that the _Titanics_ passengers were either in denial or had not yet guessed the truth. The few who had braved the cold and congregated on deck were just standing, the men, most of whom not wearing lifebelts, smoked in silence while the women watched the crew anxiously.

'Where is everyone?' Paul shouted over the din. 'Why aren't more people out here?'

Liam, who was watching a member of the crew move from boat to boat packing lanterns and tins of biscuits into each one, shrugged his reply though he knew fine well they had not yet been informed of the severity of the situation. The ship was unsinkable afterall, or so they believed. If passengers had had the information to which he and his family were privy, the atmosphere would be a very different one. As it was, there was very little sign of panic.

A nearby officer shouted down the deck for a colleagues help and gestured back to the little boat behind him. A young man in a black jacket adorned with the White Star Line logo jogged up to meet him and the pair got to work. Slowly, the crank was turned and the small vessel lifted from the deck of the ship. It swung out in stiff, jerking motions until it was suspended above the calm, black waters of the Atlantic Ocean, a glistening black number on it's side proclaiming it to be lifeboat number seven.

The officer turned away from the railing, rubbing his hands together in the hope the friction may help warm them slightly. 'Right,' he called, chillled breath billowing from his lips. 'Women an children only!'

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><p>Five decks below, Steward Bennet-Browne stood in the doorway of an almost empty four-bed dormitory. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily as he stared down the length of the long passageway called Scotland Road. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones. There had been that violent judder about half an hour ago, the engines had just stopped for a second time and if he was not mistaken, the ship seemed to be leaning somewhat to the glanced behind him at his charge and turned back to the door, running an uneasy eye up and down the length of the corridor once more.<p>

'All is not well,' he murmured to himself. He drew breath through his teeth as he glanced back into the room, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. 'What to do,' he whispered. 'What to do ...'

'You could start by letting me go,' came the answer.

Bennet-Browne gave no reply, indeed, he ignored the voice completely. It was as though nobody had spoken. He gazed out into the long corridor as though hoping to see the answer to his dilemma etched on the walls.

'They set me up, you know,' the voice continued. 'You played right into their hands.'

'Do you think I was born yesterday?' the steward retorted, turning around so he could look into the cold black eyes of Tony Gordon. 'I saw the girl with me own eyes,' he said, 'right state she was in.'

'I'll bet she doesn't look as bad as me,' Tony said thickly. He winced as he spoke, feeling a bolt of pain shoot from the tip of his damaged nose right to the back of his head. A trickle of blood escaped his left nostril and he lifted a hand to wipe it, the other unwittingly following joined, as they were, by a set of sturdy metal handcuffs around the post of one of the two bunkbeds.

Bennet-Browne gazed impassively at his prisoners face: one eye welded shut with congealed blood; both ringed by violently black bruises; his nose crooked, clearly broken; bottom lip split in two different places and a whole lot of dried blood sheathed the exposed flesh of his neck, giving him the look of something straight from the pages of an Ambrose Bierce horror novel. He allowed a smirk to creep across his own face, eyes narrowed as though in mocking. 'No,' he said, laughter evident in his tone. 'She looks nothing like as bad as you.' He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. His head cocked to one side as he studied the Scotsman. 'Why did you do it?' he asked curiously.

'Do what?' Tony mumbled. He was still dabbing at his nose, leaning forward so his restrained hands could reach his face.

Bennet-Browne simply stared until Tony looked up.

He cast his gaze around the room, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. He dabbed at his nose again. 'I don't know,' he said eventually. 'Jealousy?' he lifted his shoulders and dropped them back in a shrug. 'Wanting something I couldn't have ...' his shoulders slumped as he rested his weight against the very bar that restrained his wrists. His gaze had turned wistful, settling on the floor by the stewards feet. 'She was so beautiful ...'

A door slammed at the end of the long corridor and Bennet-Browne immediately jumped to attention, diving out the door in his haste to greet the owner of the running footsteps. The cabin door swung back on its hinges and clicked shut behind him leaving Tony straining to hear the hurried exchange of words just barely in earshot.

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><p>The response to the officers calls was anything but enthusiastic. There was no sense of urgency and certainly no panic but Liam knew that would soon change. He shielded his eyes against the glow of the deck-lighting, and stared out to sea. The night was absolutely black, no moon visible in the sky.<p>

'I thought Ismay said a ship had been spotted in the distance,' he said. He craned his neck and leant so far over the barrier that Carla lurched forward and grabbed hold of his jacket, fearing he may topple right over.

'I don't see any lights,' Barry replied, moving to stand next to his son and raising his hand to shield his own narrowed eyes. 'Let's just hope the captain's sent out a distress signal. Perhaps a rescue ship is on it's way already.'

Liam grunted his response, still searching the black horizon for any sign of life.

The deafening racket from the funnels had subsided allowing the officers in charge of the lifeboats to be heard clearly as they called for women and children to come forward but none seemed to be showing any obvious desire to escape. Why trade the bright decks of the _Titanic_ for a few dark hours in a rowboat?

A middle-aged man standing not far from the Connor's was loudly ridiculing the idea. Liam recognised him as John Jacob Astor, the wealthy American. Richest man on board by all accounts. 'We're surely safer here than in that little boat!' he was saying to an officer. Behind him, several people nodded their agreement as he cast the uniformed man a look of utmost disdain and wrapped his arm around his pregnant, teenage wifes waist, ignoring the officers reasoning as he pulled her back into the steadily growing crowd.

Further down the ship, a man Liam recognised as Fifth Officer Lowe had actually leapt into a lifeboat and was standing with one foot resting on a seat, a broad grin plastered across his face as though showing off how safe the little boat was.

'We'de really rather stay on the ship,' one woman protested as an officer in charge of the nearest lifeboat tried to usher her aboard. 'It seems safer here than on the sea in that little thing.

'She's as sturdy as they come, madam,' the officer said cheerfully, rapping his knuckles against the side of the little wooden boat. 'It's just a precaution,' he added when she remained disinclined to step forward. 'You'll be able to come back on board when all is well.'

Liam had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the stupidity of the statement. The tilt of the ship was clear to see and if he was not mistaken, the stern was slowly beginning to rise, the bow far lower in the water than it should have been. Clearly, all was most definitely _not _well.

But still the woman dithered.

'I'd really rather stay here,' she said defiantly while to her left, another nodded her head in agreement.

Further down the deck though, one brave lady had kissed her husband goodbye and settled herself in Lowe's lifeboat. She blew him kisses while he waved a hand, embarassed by this very public display of affection but seeing one of their number having already taken the plunge and daintily seated herself in a rowboat, resistance started to fall away and husbands, fathers and sons were kissed goodbye as, one by one, the ladies of the _Titanic_ seated themselves in neat little rows, huddling together for warmth while their menfolk looked on calmly.

Very slowly, the boats began to fill.

Carla had been watching numbly from a distance with one arm linked tightly through Liam's, head resting on his shoulder as his hand snaked around her waist. Beside them, Paul and Michelle stood in an almost identical stance, watching stoically as the door to the first class staircase swung open continually, dispelling a steady stream of dishevelled looking passengers most, Carla assumed, having been roused from sleep. Behind them, Barry and Helen conversed in low voices. From what Carla could hear, Helen was arguing her case for staying by Barry's side until the end but he was having none of it, using their daughter as leverage to make his wife see sense. Michelle was barely of age after all, she needed a mother to look after her. It was an argument from which Barry emerged victorious. Helen gripped his arm tighter and fell silent.

Ten feet from them, another boat with a black number six shimmering on its side was being hoisted from the deck and swung out, overseen by a man Liam had never spoken to but recognised as Second Officer Lightoller. When the boat was in position, the officer stepped in gingerly and turned back, raising one foot back to the deck effectively holding the little vessel steady. His eyes fell on Michelle, moving swiftly onto Carla and Helen behind.

'Ladies,' he called expectantly, holding out a hand. 'Nothing to be afraid of,' he reassured them. 'This boat is as safe as they come.'

Barry took a step forward holding a reluctant but remarkably stoic Helen by the hand. He turned to look at her, hands reaching up to cup her face but before he could utter a word, a shrill cry pierced the night air like the wild cry of a banshee.

'Liam!'

All eyes turned to see a very flustered and clearly terrified Lady Maria Sutherland flouncing across the deck to greet him. She looked as though she had dressed in a hurry though had still taken the time to ensure her hair was sitting nicely. She had even found the time to apply a little blush to her cheeks. Without taking stock of the situation and much less the fact he was holding another woman in his arms, she threw herself at him, knocking Carla to one side. Behind them, Helen tutted loudly. Liam could almost hear her disapproving voice in his head.

_'Proper, respectable young ladies do not throw themselves at gentlemen.' _

He wondered if her opinion of Lady Maria had just dropped a peg or two.

Tears streamed down Maria's rosy cheeks as she gripped his shirt and sobbed openly into his chest. Feeling a little bemused, Liam wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders and glanced over her head to where Paul, Carla and Michelle were all watching. Paul was smirking, rocking on the balls of his feet and clearly enjoying the show. Michelle looked plain bewildered while Carla chewed her lip and rested one hand on her hip as though torn between irritation and amusement.

'Liam,' Maria said again between sobs. 'I haven't seen you in days!'

'Yes,' he said, patting her awkwardly on the back. 'I'm afraid I've been otherwise engaged.'

She lifted her head from his chest and peered into his eyes, hands firmly clenched around the tail of his jacket. 'Daddy says we're going to sink,' she whispered, pale eyes round as saucers. She gazed at him apprehensively as though unwilling to see the truth in her fathers words until they had been confirmed by Liam himself.

He nodded his head sharply. 'He's right,' he told her bluntly, 'The ship has barely hours left before she drops to the bottom of the ocean.'

Maria gave a little gasp, her plump lips parting in fear or shock ... Liam couldn't tell. Perhaps a mixture of both.

'You have to get into a boat,' he told her firmly, leaving no room for argument. He glanced over her head to see her parents fighting their way through the growing crowd. 'Take your mother and get in a boat. Get as far from this ship as you can.'

She was nodding fearfully as she looked around to see her parents approaching. 'But what about you?' she asked turning back to him.

_'We're probably all going to die,' _he felt like telling her. His stomach gave a violent jolt as the words materialised in his head. He swallowed quickly and cleared his throat, lifted his lips into a kind smile.

'Don't worry about us,' he told her. 'They'll start loading men once all the women and children are off. We just have to wait our turn.' She nodded in understanding and reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek. From the corner of his eye he could see irritation clearly winning out with Carla while Paul and now Michelle watched in amusement. He reached behind him and took a hold of Maria's hands. She instantly released his jacket and curled her dainty fingers around his hands instead. He brought them around to his front and gently disengaged himself from her. 'Go,' he ordered and he let go and took a step back.

For a moment, Liam thought she was going to launch herself at him again but she composed herself well; merely straightening her shoulders, wiping her tears and shaking her hair back, saying a teary goodbye and turning to her mother. Her and Lady Dorothy took it in turns to say farewell to Sir Eric before clambering into the little boat and settling side by side, hands clasped firmly as both peered anxiously back onto the ship.

'Oh, Liam,' Paul mimicked Maria's high tone as soon as she was out of earshot. 'I love you, Liam, I want to marry you -' He ducked as Liam swung a good-natured punch to his upper arm.

'Jealousy doesn't become you, brother,' he laughed. He fixed Paul with a supercilious look and spread his hands out before him in a gesture of feigned ignorance, eyebrows raised in mock superiority. 'I can't help it if the ladies find me irresistible.'

Maria peered back at the Connor's curiously as they laughed seemingly carefree and, in her opinion, rather inappropriately under the circumstances at something Liam had just said. She watched as the poor, unkempt, scruffy-looking girl he had somehow taken a fancy to giggled and blushed, batting his hand away playfully as he reached for her and Maria couldn't help but wonder if their laughter had been at her expense. Her suspicions were, in her mind, confirmed as her eyes met those of Michelle's and the young girl blushed and averted them, nudging her eldest brother as he laughed openly.

Maria sat back in her seat, hidden from the Connor's view by her mothers bulk and subtly wiped at her eyes, silently mourning the loss of her future husband. She prayed for the boat to be lowered ... and soon.

Even Helen had trouble keeping a straight face as she watched her good-natured boys taunt and openly heckle one another. Lady Maria was not right for her youngest. She could see that now. The girl was clingy and weak. Liam needed a wife who could match his intelligence and his wit, a woman who could keep him firmly grounded. She appraised the third class girl with speculative eyes as she laughed along with the boys and Michelle, seemingly accepted wholly by all three despite the class difference, and wondered if this unconventional pairing had the makings of a solid marriage. She watched as the girls admittedly striking green eyes locked on her youngest sons, dancing with laughter and gleaming with devotion. Liam had stopped laughing, his face glowing with adoration as he reached for her waist, snaking a hand around to her lower back and pulling her sharply towards him. She gave a laugh and shook her long hair back as she angled her face towards his, his own descending to capture her lips in a passionate and very public kiss ...

'Michelle!' Helen called sharply, relief coursing through her as the couple hesistated and reluctantly pulled apart. 'Time to go.' She glared at her daughter as though she were the source of her antagonism and with that, the deadly seriousness of the situation hit home ... and hit hard.

Michelle started to tremble, stumbling backwards and shaking her head. Her eyes, fixed pleadingly on her mothers, filled with tears. Helen shot her a venomous warning look and took a step forward, reaching her hands out to take hold of Paul's arms. She kissed both her precious sons, holding them each to her in turn and whispering her goodbyes before stepping away and returning to her husbands side. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

Barry raised a hand to cup her face, running his fingers along her jaw as he gazed deeply into her pale blue eyes with unmitigated anguish.

'No,' she said shakily. She caught his hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips, closing her eyes as though trying to block out the painful reality. 'Don't say it, Barrington Connor,' she whispered, her voice full of raw emotion. 'Don't you dare say goodbye.'

He was blinking rapidly as he murmured his hushed reply: 'Never.'

Helen opened her eyes and allowed her husband to kiss her once on the cheek, his lips descending on the back of her hand also before grudgingly tearing himself away and stepping back, clearing her way to the boat.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself. 'Michelle,' she called again, gesturing to her daughter over her shoulder as she graciously took Officer Lightoller's proffered hand and allowed him to help her over the side and into the lifeboat where she settled herself next to Lady Dorothy, sorting the skirt of her dress and patting the back of her loose hair self-consciously. She then turned her attention back to the ship and extended a hand towards her young daughter.

'Come, Michelle,' she commanded, beckoning her forwards with a flick of the wrist.

Michelle's eyes were as round as saucers and as bright as the stars overhead as they darted back and forth as though seeking an escape route.

'Michelle!' Helen called again, impatiently batting another woman away as she tried to sit herself where the youngest Connor should be.

'No,' Michelle mumbled. She lifted her eyes to meet her mothers. They were swimming with tears. She took a large step back only to find Paul blocking her way, his masculine figure no match for hers. He grasped her upper arms tightly but not unkindly and tried to usher her forward.

'Time to go, kid,' he said gently as he applied a little more pressure.

'Michelle!' Helen called from the boat, hand still outstretched, 'Come here this instant!'

'No,' Michelle said again, her voice a little stronger as she shook her head obstinately, dug her heels in and resisted Paul's attempts to push her forwards. 'No, Paul, I want to stay here with you!'

He could feel her body trembling in his clutches. Her breathing became erratic and her chest heaved as she fought off the impending panic attack, digging her heels further into the wooden floor as she struggled against her brothers grasp. Seeing he was getting nowhere, Paul released her arms and in one swift movement, clamped his own around her waist, spinning her around so he was now pulling rather than pushing.

'Paul!' she shrieked, caring not for anyone who was watching. 'Let me go!' Her small heels scrabbled at the deck, trying desperately to find some kind of purchase and she strained against his restraining arms with all her might but found she was no match for her older brothers strength.

'Michelle,' a wary but soothing, almost balmy, voice said as Barry wrenched his eyes from his wife's face and moved forward to aid his son with his strong-willed daughter. Michelle caught the movement from the corner of her eye and changed tactics in a split-second knowing she couldn't fight off both. She stopped scratching and clawing at her brothers hands in an effort to free herself and took him entirely by surprise by turning in them quite suddenly and throwing her arms around his neck, clinging to him as though her life depended on it.

He could feel her grief-stricken tears soaking through his shirt as she sobbed loudly and desperately and he found himself momentarily stunned, swallowing back a great lump in his throat as he automatically wrapped his arms around her slender waist and held her just as tightly as she was him. The air was forced from his lungs as though he were winded as the realisation hit him that this would probably be the last time he ever got to hold his baby sister in his arms. He stared blankly ahead, struck by a sudden urge to tell her something, to impart some great words of wisdom that she would remember and look to for the rest of her life but his mind was blank, his brain refusing to function correctly. He didn't bother to wipe the first tear that trickled down his cheek, nor did he bother with the second. Instead, he inhaled a deep shuddering breath and drew his sister closer to him.

Some ten feet behind them, Carla wiped her own tears and turned away, unable to watch. She wrapped her arms around Liam's neck and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne,committingit forever to her memory. He wordlessly responded by holding her to him so tight she felt a struggle to breathe though she did not pull away, wishing with all her heart that this moment could last forever.

His hand shifted to the small of her back, caressing the skin gently. The sensation of his touch on such a vulnerable place rippled though her and she shuddered lovingly in his arms. Thinking her cold, he drew the jacket he had placed around her shoulders earlier tighter and held her, if possible, even closer.

Knowing, one way or another, that their time together was limited, she found her awareness of him had heightened to a physically painful degree. Her face pressed to his chest, she heard and felt every erratic beat of his heart, thudding louder than usual as though it knew the end was imminent. She appreciated every one of his fine muscles as she ran a hand up his back, gripping the material of his shirt just below the shoulder, the feel of his strong arms enveloping her enough to make her shudder. His unique, musky scent apparent, even over the rich cologne, penetrated her nostrils as she breathed in deep, filling her lungs while, above her, he did the same thing.

After a moment, she felt him draw breath and willed him not to speak the words she so desperately did not want to hear.

'You have to go,' he murmured in her ear. She responded by lifting her head and turning it so her lips pressed against the side of his neck.

'I don't want to,' she whispered.

'Please,' he beseeched her, feeling his resolve crumbling further with each passing second.

'I'm staying with you.'

Liam closed his eyes briefly just willing her to see things from his point of view. 'Carla, please do not ask me to endure watching you suffer anymore because of me,' he said in a low voice. She shook her head but he carried on before she could voice her protests. 'Please do not ask me to watch you struggle to survive in that freezing cold water because I couldn't ...' he broke off and swallowed the lump rising to his throat. '... I can't bare it.'

'But how will I bare it?' she whispered, pressing her face closer to his neck, 'Out there in that little boat ... watching the ship sink lower and lower ... not knowing if you're still alive or ...'

'Don't worry about me,' he implored her, doing his best to inject a little cheerfulness into his voice. 'I'm young and fit, I stand a good chance.' He paused, choosing his next words carefully. 'But if I am going to die, please let it be with the knowledge that you're safe and that you'll go on to live a full and happy life.'

She pulled back and gazed up into his beautiful blue eyes. They pleaded with her, seeming to sparkle more than usual, reflecting the stars overhead. In that moment, Carla realised she had never before concieved the true depth of their beauty ... not until the moment she had to say goodbye.

'This isn't fair,' she sobbed, her voice cracking on the last word as stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears flowed freely from her tired, red eyes.

'I know,' he said as he reached out and touched her cheek, trailing his fingertips lightly down and along her jawline, watching in awe as her eyes fluttered closed and her face relaxed. The world was a cruel place, he thought. To gift him such an achingly beautiful woman only to snatch her back in a matter of days.

A breath caught in her throat as he grazed her lower lip with his fingertips then lifted them up to her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. He couldn't help it, his eyes filled.

'Take care of Michelle for me,' he said. His voice sounded thick and somewhat distorted to his own ears. She nodded once, eyes still closed as he cupped her face with his hand. She reached up and captured it with both of her own. 'And mum,' Liam said. 'Look after her too.'

Her eyes opened with a snort of laughter. 'Your mother doesn't need anyone to look after her,' she smiled. 'She can take care of herself.'

Liam allowed himself a laugh too though it sounded harsh and wrong to his ears. 'I think you'd be surprised,' he told her.

For a long moment they stood, just gazing at one another, each imprinting an indelible image of the other on their memory. Then he reached for her waist and pulled her to him and for a while they were silent, their faces hid against each other, washed by each others tears. Awareness of him prickled across her skin and she marvelled dolefully at the palpable energy and magnetism that had her shifting restlessly on her feet. How cruel she thought the world at that moment, to allow her a taste of happiness only to snatch it away again in the worst possible way.

'I love you,' he whispered in her ear. 'So much. I feel like I've known you a lifetime rather than just a few short days.'

'I love you too,' she replied softly. 'Promise me you'll do your best to survive, no matter what happens.' She pressed her lips to a spot behind his ear and tightened her hold of him. 'Come back to me safe,' she whispered.

'I'll try,' Liam promised her, 'but if I don't ...' He pulled back and grasped her hand, pressing something to her palm and curling her fingers tightly around it. '... something to remember me by.' She looked curiously at the little wad of white tissue paper in her hand then back up to him. 'Don't open it now,' he told her with a loving smile. 'Wait.'

She slipped the little package into the pocket of the oversized jacket around her shoulders and looked up at him, a smile of her own creeping across her face. 'Thankyou,' she whispered.

'And now you have to go,' he told her gently. He reached down and planted one last lingering kiss on her lips, reveling for the last time in their softness and warmth. They clung to his with a vulnerability that was almost his undoing. Then, summoning every last ounce of strength he possessed, he dropped his hands from her waist and took a step back leaving her feeling terribly bereft. 'Go,' he urged her, nodding towards the boat which by now was almost half full with a small queue of women waiting to board.

Carla stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. Her deep green eyes shone with longing and regret and Liam felt sure his own must surely be mirroring hers. Her lips parted and quivered and her face crumpled. She turned away, looking as though every muscle in her body was screaming at her to do the opposite. As though the effort involved was an enormous one.

Miraculously it seemed, Michelle's sobs had ceased though her small body was racked with dry heaves. Her grip on her brother had not slackened any and he held her equally close as their father stepped forward, his forehead shaded with a heavy cloud. He placed his hands lightly but firmly on his daughters shoulders and tugged gently. To his great surprise, she released Paul immediately and turned to him instead, wrapping her arms around and leaning her head against his torso.

'Daddy,' she murmured as a fresh wave of tears threatened to engulf her. Barry took a deep breath, willing his mind to detach from the horrid situation as he placed one hand on his daughters head, the other on her back and stooped to kiss her hair.

'Be brave, my darling child,' he murmured in her ear.

'You'll try to get off, won't you, daddy?' Michelle pleaded desperately. 'Please say you'll try.'

Her father grasped her by the shoulders and pulled away from the embrace then reached up to frame her face with his hands. He forced his lips upwards in an easy smile. 'Of course we'll try,' he told her.

She searched his face with eyes that were dark, irate and piercing, so like her mothers.

'I love you, daddy,' she whispered.

Barry cleared his throat and ran his hands down from her face to her shoulders and upper arms. 'I love you too,' he said gruffly. 'Now go.' He spun her around and gave her a gentle push between the shoulder blades.

'Not before I get a hug too, you don't,' Liam called with deliberate buoyancy, as though he were seeing her off on a daytrip rather than saying a final goodbye. He strode towards his little sister and stooped low to pick her up right off her feet. She giggled as he spun her around in a full circle and put her down back where she'd started. From the corner of his eye he watched as Paul kissed Carla's cheek and pulled her in for a quick hug. He kissed Michelle, once on her cheek and again on the top of her head, holding her close for a second before letting go and stepping back, unable to endure another long and emotional goodbye. He subtly wiped his eyes under the pretense of scratching his brow and motioned for her to take Officer Lightoller's proffered hand.

Michelle raised her own hand and held it out but not towards Lightoller. Carla accepted with a small smile and stepped forward, brushing the tips of her fingers against Liam's palm, squeezing his fingers one last time without turning to look at him. She took the younger girls chilled hand in her own and steeled herself not to laugh inappropriately as she sensed Helen Connor's disapproving eyes boring into her.

'Ah!' a voice boomed and all eyes turned to Joseph Bruce Ismay who was walking along the deck towards them with strong, purposeful strides. 'Miss Connor,' he bestowed a kind smile on Michelle as he glanced at her pale, tear-stained face. 'And Miss Donovan,' he nodded to Carla. 'Glad to see that young man of yours has made you see sense,' he smiled at Carla the way a father would a child. 'My thanks to you, Master Connor,' he said, eyes meeting Liam's over Carla's shoulder. Liam inclined his head but offered no words.

Ismay turned back to the girls. 'Well in you go then,' he said, taking hold of Michelle's waist and, ignoring her cry of protest, thrust her unceremoniously into the little wooden boat where Helen made a fuss of helping her up and sitting her down, scolding her soundly for not coming sooner and for making such a scene.

Ismay turned back to Carla and reached for her too, ushering her along to Lightoller but Barry, who had edged forward, stopped him before the Officer could take her hand. Surprised and bemused, Carla glanced down at his hand which gripped her forearm, then up at him as a small crease appeared between her brows. Barry cleared his throat again and dropped his eyes to the hand holding her arm then glanced at Ismay and looked from left to right, clearly uncomfortable. He looked back to her face, eyes lingering on the dark bruising caused, unbenownst to him, by her own roommate and his expression changed. He took a breath, hesitating as his eyes finally met hers. Words almost visible trembled on his lips but as he gazed into her sparkling emerald eyes looking questioningly back at his, he seemed to lose his nerve. He released his hold on her arm and took a step away, clasping his hands behind his back in a true gentleman pose and thrusting his chest out. He gave another gruff clearing of his throat. 'Good luck,' he said, nodding once before turning and moving over to stand by his sons. Carla had no time to question what had just happened as her hand was suddenly captured by another much larger one and with Ismay's help, Officer Lightoller pulled her up and over the side of the lifeboat. She tucked herself into a space beside Michelle and wordlessly grasped her delicate little hand, squeezing it tight while doing her best to ignore the black looks Helen was shooting her from over the girls head. No doubt she would rather Carla remain on the ship. She would probably relish the thought of the younger woman at the bottom of the ocean rather than in her precious sons arms. Carla suppressed a grim smile and, knowing full well Helen was watching, eased her hand gently from Michelle's and linked it through her arm instead, knowing the distraught young girl would take comfort from the gesture. Well, she thought, the night was going to be a long one. There was nothing like a litte bit of fun to break the monotony.

At 12:45, little more than an hour after the collision, just as lifeboat number six was preparing for lowering, a loud, unfamiliar hiss cut through the freezing night air and Liam whipped his head around in time to see a blaze of light soar skyward from the starboard side of the bridge. Up ... up it soared, far above the lacework of masts and rigging. Then with a distant, muffled report it burst, and a shower of bright white stars floated down towards the sea.

There was a chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahh' as though the crowd were watching a display on Bonfire Night. Almost all those around him stared until the light had faded. Some gazed in delight, but others watched with looks of growing horror on their faces and _now _Liam could see the truth sinking in with them. The ship was not simply wounded. The damage they had suffered was so grievous that they needed help and they needed it so urgently they were signalling out across the ocean for any passing ship to see.

In the blue-white light Liam caught a glimpse of Bruce Ismay's startled face. The managing director watched in stunned silence until the last of the rockets embers had disappeared into the night then, jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly, he turned and walked away.

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><p>Steward Bennet-Browne sank down onto a rough hewn mattress and allowed his head to fall into his shaky hands, releasing a great shuddering breath as he did. How had it come to this?<p>

The _Titanic_; the greatest most luxurious liner in history; the unsinkable ship ... was sinking. How was it possible?

'How long do you think we have?' Tony asked. His voice was quiet, ethereal even in the eerie silence.

the steward shook his head slowly back and forth, face still hidden behind ten long, pale fingers.

'Well how badly is she damaged?'

Another shake of the head.

'Are we talking hours? What?'

Bennet-Browne's head came up. His face was white, hands still shaking. 'I don't know,' he said irritably.

'You don't know much,' Tony grumbled under his breath, 'do you?'

The steward glared. 'I know one thing,' he growled. 'They're not going to waste precious lifeboat space on scum like you.' An unscrupulous smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips as he stared into the Scotsmans narrowed eyes and when he spoke, it was with a deliberate injection of malicious venom. 'You, my friend, will most definitely be going down with the ship.'

The metal handcuffs clinked loudly against the iron bedframe as Tony shifted uncomfortably on the rough mattress. He frowned, immediately regretting the action as sickening spasms of pain shot from his broken nose right around the back of his head. For a moment, it was all he could do not to bend over the back of the bed and retch. He closed his eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. 'What do you mean by 'precious lifeboat space'?' he asked eventually.

'I mean, half the lifeboats were left behind in Dublin so as not to spoil the view for the pompous, prissy idiots up in first class. Nobody thought we'de actually be needing them.' He shook his head disbelievingly, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor by the other mans feet. 'Unsinkable ...' he murmured disbelievingly under his breath.

Tony watched the steward for a long moment before allowing his eyes to drop to the floor too. Where was Carla? he wondered. Was she safe? Had she already claimed a precious seat to safety or had she been buffeted away by the rich and the powerful? And which was most desirable to him? He pondered the question a moment. Carla safe but untouchable or at immense risk but still in the vicinity? If he was going to die did he really want her to live? Yes, he decided. He did want her to survive but did he want her to live the rest of her life with that toff-nosed, stuck-up Englishman where he himself became nothing but a distant memory? No, he thought. No he did not want that. He lifted his eyes and the room suddenly came into focus. The steward was teetering on the balls of his feet, hands clasped and fingers fidgeting behind his back, looking for all the world as though he were about to take flight. His dull eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the door and he bit his bottom lip as though deep in thought. A slight crease appeared between his eyes.

'Let me go,' Tony said quietly.

The steward snorted in derision but did not turn around. 'Chance would be a fine thing,' he muttered dryly.

'Please, man,' Tony said, ignoring the churning in his stomach. He did his best to make himself appear small, vulnerable even. 'Don't I get a chance at survival?' he asked quietly, 'Same as everybody else?'

'You blew your chance, Mr Gordon. You're a danger to the public.' Bennet-Browne rocked forward on his toes and took a step closer to the door. The temptation to flee and try for his own survival was radiating from his entire body, the strength and demand of his will exuding an almost tangible force in the tiny, enclosed space. He took another step closer to the door.

'Have a heart, man!'

The steward whirled round on his heel, eyes blazing with a sudden fury. 'Like you did when you abducted that poor girl?' he demanded, advancing on the other man. 'Like when you beat her into unconsciousness and held her against her will for _two whole days_?' He glared menacingly at the Scotsman, leaning over him so their faces were a mere ten inches apart. 'You deserve what's coming to you,' he sneered and with a look of utmost contempt he turned on his heel and marched to the door, pulling it open and letting it slam behind him. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose and, with a conscious effort to stop the trembling in his hands, stalked menacingly down the corridor, face as black as the night.

He listened to the low cries for help emanating from the room he had left behind, the rattling and clinking of metal handcuffs on iron as the Scotsman tried desperately to free himself. It was a vain attempt, Bennet-Browne knew. Those cuffs were sturdier than the ship on which they stood. Short of dismantling the bed frame, there was no chance of the mans escape.

He would die in that little room. Alone.

He tried to hang onto it, did his best to maintain it, not wishing to feel any kind of remorse but the stewards anger seemed to be unsustainable. It dissolved a little further with every step until he found himself stationary, deflated and facing the wrong way. The Scotsmans cries were pitiful. He had to be punished, yes ... but did he really deserve such a fate? Bennet-Browne glanced uneasily down the empty corridor and felt his mouth dry, his stomach convulse at the sight. The tilt of the ship was clearly visible, the corridor before him sloping downwards to the stairway and was that ... was that the smallest puddle of water ebbing menacingly through the crack at the bottom of the door? The steward watched in horror as it inched its way slowly and silently along the corridor, claiming everything it touched as its own like a disease infiltrating even the smallest of cracks and crevices and bringing with it the promise of death.

Bennet-Browne squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them as though hoping this whole nightmare was just a hallucination. His breath started to come in shallow whisps, his heart thumping, his hands trembling violently as he wrenched his eyes away from the advancing pool of icy water and glanced behind him. He cursed loudly, puffed a frustrated breath from his cheeks and, against every rational thought, made his way back along the corridor. He stopped outside the door and gripped the frame, offering up a silent prayer to God. His stomach fluttered as though a thousand butterflies had taken nest inside and with a quick glance back at the glistening pool of water, he pushed the door open.

Tony looked up in surprise. His left hand was bloody, as though he had been trying to squeeze it free from the restraining cuffs even if that meant losing a few layers of skin to do so. His surprise gave way to genuine relief as the steward produced a small silver key from his inside pocket and silently crossed the room, bending low to release the Scotsman's hands.

'To leave you here would be to become as bad as you,' he murmured under his breath, focusing his concentration on the little lock. 'If I'm to die tonight, I'll go to my grave with a clear conscience.'

'Thankyou,' Tony whispered softly.

'I'm not doing it for you,' the steward uttered derisively, allowing his hardened eyes to meet the other mans. 'If I'm to live, I couldn't move on knowing that I directly caused the death of another human being.' He dropped his eyes back to the lock and pulled it closer to him, ignoring the hiss of pain that escaped Tony's lips as the metal cut into the raw flesh of his wrists. 'I'll take you up to the boat deck,' the steward went on, quieter this time. As though he were thinking aloud. 'Let the officers decide what to do with you.'

Tony just nodded, keen to do nothing which may induce second thoughts in the other man. He said nothing as the lock clicked open and his hands sprang apart though he gasped quietly in relief and grabbed at his bloody wrist, rubbing it gently to soothe the pain as he got shakily to his feet.

Bennet-Browne straightened up and glanced back at the door to check the advancing water had not yet progressed so far as to meet them there and parted his lips to impress on the Scotsman the need to hurry.

He did not see the other mans fist until it was too late. His head snapped back and he stumbled sideways but did not lose his footing. For a moment he was too stunned to speak, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Then Tony hit him again. A thousand shards of light seemed to explode inside his head and with a grunt of pain he fell back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Tony leapt forward with surprising agility for a man who had spent the better part of the evening unconscious, and pinned him there easily, one hand around the taller mans throat while both gasped for breath.

'Big mistake, that,' he growled menacingly, black eyes alight with adrenaline. Saliva flecked from the corners of his mouth as he spoke. 'Should have left me here to die.'

The steward was having trouble focusing on the other mans words. In dazed wonder he watch a droplet of blood escape the wound on his captors wrist and trickle down his forearm to meet the soiled cuffs of his shirt.

'You see, unlike you ...' Tony's eyes darted to the door and back where the rush of water could be heard from just out of sight. 'I _can_ live with it.'

In a flash his hand had left the stewards throat, gripping his chin instead, the other hand grasping the top of his head and in one quick movement he yanked it forward and, with crushing force, rammed the other mans temple against the steel wall feeling a satisfactory crack as bone splintered beneath his fingers.

Steward Bennet-Browne was dead before he hit the floor.

* * *

><p>Ten miles away, apprentice James Gibson stood on the starboard side of the steamer ship the <em>Californian<em>, binoculars pressed to his face as he watched the strange vessel that came up from the east but had not moved for over an hour. He studied her with interest, making out her side lights and a glare of lights on her afterdeck. At one point he had been sure she was trying to signal the _Californian_ with her Morse lamp and he had hastened to reply with his own but soon gave up, deciding her masthead light was merely flickering.

At 12:45 he saw a sudden flash of white light burst over her and frowned, pressing the binoculars to his face again. Strange, he thought, that a ship would fire rockets at this time of night. He considered contacting the bridge where he knew Second Officer Herbert Stone was on duty that night but soon thought the better of it. The man had a reputation and it wasn't for being kind and patient. Besides, what news did he have to impart? The treacherous ice fields rendered many a ship useless during the night when visibility was poor. She was most likely sitting until first light, continuing on her journey when the bergs were clearly visible. A wise decision, Gibson thought.

He pocketed his binoculars and glanced at his watch, rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm them and with no more thoughts of the mysterious ship, headed inside for a cup of tea.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated :)<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Thankyou so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it means so much to me.**

**I had a bit of help with passengers names and reactions courtesy of Mr Walter Lord so I can't take full credit for this chapter.**

**I had a lot of trouble writing it so I hope you enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>April 15th 1912<strong>

The ship was dead in the water. Apart from drifting, the only direction the_ Titanic _was going was down. Liam was no seaman but as he watched the water creeping up the bow he sensed the end was coming sooner rather than later. He, his brother and their father stood by the railing and watched as the tiny boat bearing the other half of their family dropped to the water and began to row away. Faces were no longer visible but still, the three Connor men stood and watched until the boat had put a good distance between itself and the ship.

The others on the boat deck seemed to suddenly understand the severity of the situation, the penny having dropped as the last embers of the rocket faded into the night. Laughter and gaiety fell away, there was no more joking or lingering, no more resistance and hardly any time to say goodbye.

Liam turned his back on the open ocean and leant against the railing wishing for the first time in his life that he was a smoker, purely to keep his hands occupied. Paul and Barry still had their attention focused on the little wooden boat slowly disappearing into the darkness, Liam however, chose instead to turn his own attention to his fellow passengers, standing on the fringe of the crowd as he was, silently eavesdropping on their tearful goodbyes and final intimate moments.

Standing not five feet from him, newly married first class passenger, Dan Marvin, blew his young bride a kiss as she stepped into a lifeboat. 'You go,' he told her with a brave smile. 'I'll stay a while.'

'Be brave,' Dr Minahan told Mrs Minahan as he helped her into the same boat. 'No matter what happens, be brave.' And he stepped back into the crowd where Liam watched him blow his nose and wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

Others said nothing at all. Mr Turrell Cavendish kissed Mrs Cavendish and pulled back to gaze at her face, taking in her large pale eyes, rosy cheeks and soft pink lips. He kissed her again then turned his back and disappeared leaving Second Officer Lightoller to pull her towards the boat as she sobbed silently.

'Walter, you must come with me,' a woman further down the deck begged loudly and Liam turned his head to see Mrs Walter D. Douglas gripping her husbands forearm.

'No' Walter replied softly, taking his wifes fingers in his own and squeezing them tenderly. 'I must be a gentleman.' He kissed her pale knuckles and turned away before she could see the emotion on his face.

'Try and get off with Major Butt and Mr Moore!' she called after him. 'They are big strong fellows; they are sure to make it.'

Some of the wives still refused to go. Mr and Mrs Edgar Meyer of New York felt so self-conscious arguing about it in public that they went down to their cabin. When they reappeared ten minutes later it was with the decision to part on account of their newborn baby.

Others, like Mr Arthur Ryerson, were forced to lay down the law in order to see their spouses off to safety. 'You _must _obey orders,' he told Mrs Ryerson. 'You _must_ go when your turn comes.'

Mr and Mrs Lucien Smith were also arguing over whether or not she should go and leave him behind. 'The ship is thoroughly equipped,' he told her eventually. 'Everyone on her will be saved, I just have to wait my turn.'

Mrs Smith asked him if he was completely truthful with her. Her husband gave her a firm and decisive, 'yes'. So they kissed goodbye and as the boat dropped to the sea he called out to her: 'Keep your hands in your pockets; it is very cold weather tonight.' He then turned and caught Liam's eye, twisted his face into a grimace and gave a little shrug. Liam nodded to him solemnly knowing he too would have attempted to decieve Carla had she not already known the truth.

Sometimes it took more than gentle deception. Mrs Emil Taussig was clinging to her husband when boat number eight started down with her daughter. Mrs Taussig turned and cried, 'Ruth!' The brief distraction proved enough: two men tore her from Mr Taussig and dropped her into the lowering boat where she wrapped her arms around her daughter and stayed put, peering back up to the deck anxiously.

A seaman yanked Mrs Charlotte Collyer by the arm, another by the waist, and together they dragged her from her husband. She shrieked loudly in surprise and kicked to free herself but the men held tight and pushed her into a boat while her husband shouted to her to be brave.

No amount of persuasion of force however, could move Mrs Hudson J. Allison who was travelling to Montreal with her husband, two children and the family nurse. She huddled with Mr Allison on the fringe of the crowd and watched tearfully as the nurse climbed into a boat with their six month old baby, Trevor. The couples daughter, however, remained behind, tugging at her mothers skirt. Three-year-old Lorraine looked relieved she was not to be parted from her parents as her baby brother had been and smiled lovingly up at her mother who reached down and stroked the childs hair.

Further along an elderly couple sat side by side on a pair of deckchairs, fingers entwined, watching the comings and goings of their fellow passengers looking for all the world as though they were sitting in the front row seats of a theatre back in England.

More distress rockets were fired from the bridge; soaring into the air, looking small and vain under the smothering blackness. It provided an unearthly backdrop for the heartrendering goodbyes. The terrible unreality of the scene only heightened as the ships band, the Wallace Hartley Quintet, assembled on the boat deck, incongruous with their instruments and pale life jackets and began to play Irving Berlin's 'Alexander's Ragtime Band'. Eight fine musicians who knew just what to do. Tonight the beat was fast, the music loud and cheerful.

'I can't quite believe this is happening,' Paul murmured from beside Liam. He had finally turned away from the boat bearing his sister and mother and stood with his back to the railing, watching as a protesting middle-aged woman was picked right up off her feet and dropped six feet into a boat which was only half-full. 'Why aren't they filling the boats?' he asked with a trace of irritation. 'If there's no more women why not start loading men? Surely that makes more sense than letting them go half-empty.'

Liam just shrugged his reply, not particularly caring at that point in time.

He was watching a young man disengage himself from the disarranged mob of people while pulling the ghostly white life preserver over his head, tossing it to the side as he lit up a cigar, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief. Liam had watched this man assist many single ladies into lifeboats and away to safety. It was not uncommon for a gentleman to offer his services to a single, unprotected lady on a voyage such as the Titanic's, indeed, it looked as though many had as not one female on the deck was standing alone. Liam had considered the notion before leaving Manchester of finding himself an unattached young lady onboard and offering to protect her, no matter how much his brother may ridicule him for it. But then he had had Lady Maria thrust upon him and the young steerage passenger, Carla Donovan, had captured his heart, however unorthodox their pairing may be.

The man stopped infront of the Connor's and gestured up to the sky. 'Nice night for it,' he said, flashing them a condemned mans grin. He brought the cigar to his lips.

'Yes,' Paul agreed half-heartedly. Slumped against the railing he looked small and deflated as though the life and energy had deserted him, sailing off into the night in lifeboat number six along with the other half of his family. 'Lovely night.'

The man pointed to the heavens. 'Amazing sky.' He nodded at the truth of his own words. 'I'm a keen astronomer,' he told them conversationally, 'You can see all the constellations tonight. I don't even need a telescope, they're just there for us to admire. A stirring sight.'

All four men looked up, Liam once again taken aback by just how _many_ stars there were. The whole sky appeared to be aglow. In foggy, smoke-shrouded Manchester you would be lucky to see a fraction of this illumination.

'It certainly is a stirring sight,' he said while Paul remained silent. Barry turned his attention back to the black waters of the Atlantic.

'Seen your missus' off?' the man asked, a plume of smoke billowing from his lips as he exhaled but Liam had lost interest and was no longer listening. His eyes were following a young woman who had just emerged from the grand staircase. Her face was white, traces of earlier tears still evident on her cheeks. Her arms were wrapped around a young man, fists gripping the material of his shirt while he squeezed her waist, one hand crossing her body to rest on her hip.

'Louisa!' Liam called out suddenly as he pushed his weight from the barrier. His mouth gaped open with incredulity at his having forgotten about the family's maid in all that had happened that night.

The girl jumped in surprise and gripped her young man tighter, eyes growing wide as she watched Liam stride purposefully towards her, pushing the star-gazer unceremoniously to one side. 'M-master Connor,' she stammered fearfully.

'What are you still doing here?' Liam asked, ignoring her gentleman friend and taking her upper arm in his hand. He glanced up and down the deck, searching for a boat that was still loading. 'We must get you into a boat.'

'No!' she protested, trying in vain to wrestle her arm free from Liam's grip. 'I don't want to leave Alfred!'

Liam looked to the young man, about a head shorter than himself, and fixed him with a pointed stare. The boy seemed to take a moment to realise what Liam was trying to say but when realisation dawned he set his lips in a firm line and relinquished his hold on the girls waist, reaching for her face and cupping it in both hands. 'Louisa, my dear,' he used his thumbs to wipe away her fallen tears, 'You must do as Master Connor says and get in a boat - no listen to me,' he said when she made to protest, 'I will be fine here, I just need to wait my turn. I'll get off eventually, do you understand?' She gave a meek nod as a sob escaped her lips. 'Okay,' he said. He ran his fingers through her loose strands of hair, tucking them lovingly behind her ears. Liam could see a muscle going in his cheek. 'Then you have to go.' He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. 'We'll meet again,' he whispered when he pulled back, 'I promise.' He straightened up and relinquished her to Liam, turning his back as she wailed loudly.

'Come on,' Liam said kindly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and ushering her to the nearest boat. 'Nothing to be frightened of.'

'I'm not frightened for me,' she managed between sobs, peering over her shoulder for a final glimpse of her love but the young man called Alfred had already been lost in the crowd.

'We'll look after him,' Liam murmured in her ear. 'We'll see him to safety.' He grimaced inwardly at the untruth.

She stepped over the side of the little wooden vessel with the help of the officer in charge and looked back to Liam, mouthed a silent 'thankyou' as she took her place next to another lady's maid.

Liam turned and walked back through the horde of people, feeling the muscles in his legs protesting at the upward climb: the boat was sinking fast, it wouldn't be long now. He broke into a jog, twisting his head all directions as he sought his brother and father. He searched over peoples heads, calling through the crowd but his voice was lost amongst the many others still milling around the deck. His heartbeat was quickening, his palms sweating as panic and anxiety threatened to take hold when he spotted a familiar head of black hair and pushed his way towards it, relief coursing through him. How horrible it would be, he thought, to die alone - standing on the decks of this magnificent ship with nobody to draw comfort from. Just waiting until she sank into oblivion, just ceasing to exist. He was suddenly thankful for his father and brother. They would see each other through until the end.

But a fourth person was standing with them as Liam found his way back to their side. The young mans eyes widened questioningly as they found Liam's and he nodded once, noting that that muscle in his cheek was still twitching.

It was the first chance Liam had to get a proper look at the young lad. Perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age, blonde hair, slim build, smartly dressed but not quite to the standard of first class.

'What is your surname, Alfred?' Liam addressed him formally.

'Gracie, sir,' he replied in a voice strained with anguish. His hands were shaking. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

'And for whom to do you work?'

'The Moore's, sir,' Alfred responded meekly. He looked winded, as though the slightest breeze would knock him over. 'I was Mr Moore's personal valet.'

'How did you come into Miss Clarke's orbit?

Alfred swallowed. 'The staff of first class passengers eat together, sir,' he said as though no further explanation was needed.

'Give the boy a break, Liam,' Barry chastised him. 'We're all in the same position tonight.' He turned to Alfred and gazed pityingly at his pale face. 'You're most welcome to stay with us until the end, lad.'

As the young man expressed his gratitude, Paul raised an eyebrow to Liam who shrugged non-commitally in reply and turned his back on them, staring out to sea. It was a small act of kindness but didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. The boy would most likely die either way. No ... right then the only thing that mattered was that little wooden boat floating peacefully about a quarter of a mile away...

* * *

><p>Carla gripped Michelle's hand as she gazed back to the listing ship. The glowing portholes gave no lie to just how far into the water her bow had already dropped and if Carla was not mistaken, the stern was beginning to rise very slowly into the air. She had been using the incandescent row of portholes as a guide to keep track of the waters progress, watching as first one deck disappeared, then another. Only four remained above the waterline now.<p>

Her own cabin on F-deck would be submerged, her wordly posessions lost forever as they sank along with the ship to the murky depths of the Atlantic Ocean. She stifled a sob as she, along with the others in the boat, listened in absolute silence to the distant yells, the cat-calling and the shouting from those still on board. The music emitting from the string quintet floated eerily across the water, the lively beat sounding forced and unnatural under such horrid circumstances, only serving to heighten the unreality of the situation.

She watched the little figures move around on the deck and wondered which one was Liam, which one was Paul. Of course, there was no way of distinguishing one from another from such a distance but she gazed wistfully anyway, sighing softly as she prayed they'd both pull through while next to her, Michelle and Helen along with every other woman and child in the boat did the same thing for their own husbands, fathers, brothers ...

She shivered and gripped Michelle's hand a little tighter.

* * *

><p>Tony Gordon was growing uneasy. He had successfully navigated his way around E-deck, bringing himself to the foot of the stairs which lead up to D-deck, only to find them blocked by four or five dozen third class passengers, milling around aimlessly while a stern looking steward stood behind a locked gate at the head, arms crossed over his chest. He fixed the crowd with a steely glare as though daring them to try and break through.<p>

On the topmost step, people were begging to be allowed access to D-deck, literally on their knees while the steward stared stoically ahead.

'Great God, man!' a strapping Irishman roared over their heads. 'There are girls down here! Open the gate and let them through!' But the steward remained motionless.

Tony closed his eyes and thought hard, kept his breathing under control as he willed his frazzled, sleep-deprived mind to cooperate. Which other access points could he remember? The forward well deck ... the after poop deck ... both of which he assumed would be playing host to a similiar state of panic as this staircase was but with no better ideas and time fast running out, he set off.

Much as he suspected, the forward well deck was crowded with people though not as many as had lingered at the foot of the E-deck staircase. The gate was locked but unmanned, no steward stood behind it. There was nobody to see the thin line of passengers curl their way up a crane and crawl along a boom to the first class quarters where they leapt over the railing and climbed the stairs to the boatdeck while a group of burly men tried their hand at breaking the gate down while their women stood by and watched.

Tony watched too with mild interest as he waited his turn in a surprisingly civil queue before hoisting himself onto the crane and beginning the slow climb up made only more difficult by his already fatigued muscles and tiring body. Was it really only mere hours ago that he and Liam Connor had fought down on the Orlop deck? Seemed like days to him. His nose ached dully from where Connor's fist had made contact. The scene kept playing before his eyes, discomfort rising slowly to a simmering rage as he watched the Englishman get the better of him over and over until he found himself nearly losing his grip on the boom; the need for revenge spreading like wildfire through his veins, threatening to overpower him.

'Get a move on there!' a voice called from somewhere below and he gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes as he shimmied his way along, careful not to look down at the deck far below him or the black of the sea beyond that.

'Alright,' he muttered, concentrating deliberately on his progress rather than his unmitigated fury and he eventually dropped down onto the deck, hastening to climb the railing to find himself some semblance of safety. Thirty seconds later he was joined by the man who had shouted up at him. He was a stone or two heavier than Tony, fair hair, blue eyes which fixed directly onto Tony's as he dismounted the last rung of the railings. He gave a lop-sided smile, face positively glowing with relief as he glanced behind him and whistled through his teeth, taking in the distance to the deck below where the group of men battering themselves off the gate had grown to a small crowd.

'Not bad for a man who's partial to the odd cigar and a few whisky's of a night,' he said patting his substantial gut. Tony smiled as was expected, placing the mans accent as Irish. 'What happened to you halfway up?' the man asked, turning to look at Tony. 'You get stagefright?'

'Not great with heights,' Tony told him disparagingly. While not strictly true, it was not a full-blown lie either. He stepped back from the railing as the next man climbed over and landed squarely on the deck. With a nod to both fellow passengers, he made straight for the stairs and disappeared up to the boatdeck.

'Suppose we'de best ...' The Irishman jerked his head in the direction of the iron staircase. Tony nodded and gestured for the other man to precede him. He had just noticed his shaking hands, partially covered in dried blood from where Bennet-Browne's handcuff had sliced through the skin. He turned them over once, making a quick inventory of the damage and stowed them in his pockets to hide them from the other man ... who he saw was watching him closely, scrutinizing his face. Tony's heart began to thud painfully against his ribs, blood rose involuntarily to his face which he forced to remain impassive. He dug his fingernails into his palms, unwittingly held his breath though what the other man could possibly know about him he did not know. Perhaps he had a flashing sign on his forehead reading 'murderer'.

'Don't I know you?' The Irishman asked with narrowed eyes.

'I don't think so,' Tony replied, impressing himself with his steady voice.

'What did you say your name was?' the man pressed.

'I didn't.'

Just then, another passenger leapt over the railing, grinning from ear to ear at his success and made his way to the stairs without a backward glance. 'C'mon, boys,' he said in an unnaturally jovial voice as he passed. 'No time for lingering.'

The Irishman immediately straightened up and made to follow the man to the foot of the stairs, giving his head a little shake as though chastising himself for becoming distracted from the more pressing matter of the sinking ship and his imminent death.

Tony released the breath he'd been holding and closed his eyes, allowing his head to dip forward in relief before composing himself and making for the stairs, wondering idly if the two men ahead knew one another. They were certainly talking as though they did.

He followed them up to the boat deck and under a rope that had been stretched across the length of it, forbidding access to unauthorised persons ... and was met with a scene of chaos.

There was no longer any difficulty persuading people to leave the ship. As Tony watched, one man jumped ten feet into a dangling boat, scrabbling to find a seat at the side furthest from the ship and avoid the hands which protruded from lower decks, intent on pulling him back aboard. A man Tony knew from third class, a man he had sat with once or twice at mealtimes whom he knew only as 'Buckley', rushed past him having climbed up the crane and along the boom, and threw himself headlong into a boat along with several others. Most of them were hauled back out but as Tony watched, a woman took pity on Buckley, removed her shawl and put it over him. The disguise worked and the officer in charge gave the order to lower away, unaware that a third class man sat amongst the ladies.

Boat number fourteen seemed to be particularly troubled being closest to the rail which more and more third class passengers were scrabbling over. One young lad was pleading with Officer Lowe, begging to be allowed onboard but Officer Lowe ordered him away and when the lad pleaded harder he drew his gun and waved it through the air, telling him to toughen up and be a man but as the lad backed down, another wave of men rushed the boat. Someone grabbed an oar and used it to beat them back while Officer Lowe pointed the gun into the air.

'If anyone else else tries that, this is what he'll get!' he yelled and he fired three times sending the men scarpering. Lowe kept the gun in his hand until boat number fourteen had dropped safely to the sea.

The men had turned to boat number fifteen instead and Tony found himself being drawn towards it also, survival instinct kicking in.

'Stand back! Stand back!' Officer Murdoch roared over their heads. 'It's women first!' but women were now few and far between and boats were being lowered with a fraction of the number of people they were built to hold.

'For God's sake man!' Someone yelled, waving a fist threateningly towards Murdoch as he gave the order for the boat to be lowered. Number fifteen had a capacity of forty people but held only twelve. 'If you're sending them down you might as well put some people in them!'

As the boat creaked down, two men climbed over the railing and dropped in.

'Get out of there!' Murdoch shouted furiously while Purser McElroy took his gun and fired two shots into the air, stopping any further escape attempts. The two men were hauled out, one by the arms the other by the legs, and dragged back onboard the ship. The lowering continued.

* * *

><p>Liam stood off to one side with his brother, his father and the valet boy and watched as the last boat on the starboard side, number fifteen, was lowered safely to the water. He had not seen the point of joining the horde of people crowding the boats. His chances of actually getting off on one were not worth mentioning and he knew he could never save himself and leave his father and brother behind. It was an unspoken agreement between the three men to stay together until the end, to bring silent comfort to one another while the ship disappeared beneath them.<p>

The crowd began to disperse, or rather, to move around to the port side where boats numbered two, ten and four were still loading. The din began to lessen as more and more people headed to the other side, leaving an eerie kind of quiet in their wake. The band still played out by the door to the grand staircase and every so often a rocket would fire into the night and explode in a shower of white sparks but those left on the starboard side were those who had resigned themselves to their fate and were intent on enjoying their last moments on Earth. Some had dressed in their finest clothing and stood resplendant on the deck, ensuring they would die as the gentlemen they were raised to be while others leant against the railing in their pyjamas and lifebelts, smoking contentedly or just staring out to sea, perhaps thinking of loved ones away to safety in the boats or back home, not having a chance to say goodbye. Little Lorraine Allison was giggling, not a care in the world as her father pulled grotesque faces at her.

Liam leant his weight on the railings trying to relax his horribly tense body. This waiting for death business was too slow and far too torturous for his liking. He would much prefer it came sooner rather than later, it was the waiting that made it worse. He exhaled a deep breath, thinking of all the things that were expected of a gentleman like him that he'd now never get to experience. Marriage for one. Marriage was something he had never really fancied for himself but then again he never thought he'd meet a girl who could hold his interest long enough. In a way, he was right. Women like Lady Maria Sutherland who conformed to the rules, conducted herself with dignity and most importantly, had rich parents and a fancy title just held no appeal for him but women like her were the only type he ever met ... until this trip. Carla Donovan had brought out another side to him, shown him he didn't have to play by everyone elses rules and that alone made this trip worthwhile.

He bowed his head and puffed a breath from his cheeks. Beside him, Paul reached out a hand and gave his brothers back a rub, gripping his shoulder tightly, mouth set in a thin line as though he knew exactly what was going through Liam's mind. As the fingers on his shoulder tightened and an audible breath escaped Paul's lips, Liam thought It probably wasn't too far from what was going through his own.

* * *

><p>Carla watched, almost enthralled, as the bow of the ship rose further into the air. She could hear the cries of people as they lost their footing and fell, slid straight off the deck and into the freezing water and tried to force images of all three Connor men flailing around uselessly as they fought a losing battle to stay alive from her mind. Next to her, Michelle gave a quiet sob. She too was staring at the sinking ship as though in wonder, entranced by the macabre spectacle. Every so often a splash of white would appear at the base as another desperate passenger leapt over the side and for each person that jumped, both girls squeezed their eyes shut and prayed it was not one of the Connor's.<p>

Music was still floating across the water towards them. Still upbeat, still lively. Carla wished they would stop. It didn't seem right somehow, listening to jaunty ragtime as lives were being lost.

Liam had told her two nights before as he lead her up the grand staircase towards the lounge and to the dance which had ingratiated her with Ismay, that the huge glass dome which crowned the top of the staircase looked spectacular from the outside at night when the sky was black.

_'It's even more beautiful at night when you're out on the deck and the whole dome is glowing like a beacon.'_

He was right. Glowing like a fireball against the inky black of the night, it _was_ beautiful. The whole spectacle was eerily beautiful. She stifled a sob as she prayed she'd get the chance to tell Liam how right he was.

* * *

><p>The <em>Titanic<em> held four collapsible lifeboats along with the main sixteen, stored atop the forward superstructure abreast of the first funnel. They were named by letters rather than numbers: A, B, C and D. They were effectively boat-shaped rafts with heavy canvas sides that could be raised to form an actual boat and it was these that the crew turned to when all sixteen lifeboats had been seen off safely.

Collapsible C was fitted securely into the davits that had held boat number one, not far from where Liam was standing, and Officer Murdoch along with Purser McElroy began the familiar and increasingly futile calls for women and children. Joseph Bruce Ismay appeared seemingly from nowhere and offered his assistance as the reconformed crowd pushed forward to be allowed on. After calling for women and children and only finding a handful, Murdoch reluctantly relented, with Ismay's voice in his ear, and started allowing men to board.

Paul, who had been watching with little interest, hastily pushed himself from the barrier and grabbed his brothers elbow. 'Look,' he said urgently, glancing behind to his father, 'They're letting men on now!'

Liam pushed himself upright also, eyeing the boat which was filling rapidly and found a sudden newfound hope flooding his heart. 'Let's go,' he said, taking off on a jog down the deck to join the back of the crowd. He kept a grip on Paul's arm as he unceremoniously and unashamedly pushed his way towards the head, Paul keeping hold of Barry who held young Alfred. He elbowed other men out the way, even stamping on the foot of one passenger who refused to budge. He ducked around behind Murdoch, making sure the others were still in tow and found himself face to face with a stony-faced Purser McElroy who, after a moments consideration, stood aside to allow him access.

Heart lighter than he thought possible, Liam stepped forward stifling a laugh at his sudden, unexpected good fortune and climbed awkwardly over the side and into the boat, feeling he could just burst with happiness. He was hard pressed to stifle his grin as he turned to help Paul and the others in after him ... only to find they weren't there. He had released his hold on Paul's arm just before stepping into the boat, assuming his brother would be right behind him. But Paul was standing behind the lines along with Barry and Alfred, held firmly at bay by Purser McElroy's outstretched arms. The grin slid from his face, the joyous relief ebbing away as he stared at Paul's apologetic face.

'Boat's full, Sir,' McElroy stated at Liam's questioning gaze. 'I'm afraid we can't take any more.'

The boat had fallen silent. All eyes on Liam.

'But he's my brother,' Liam said pleadingly, feeling he could just burst into tears. 'My father,' he gestured towards Barry.

'I'm sorry, sir,' though the purser didn't sound sorry at all. 'Lower away!' he ordered and with the grinding of the davits, the boat began to drop.

Pure, unadulterated panic gripped at Liam's heart as he watched his family slowly disappear from sight. For a moment he turned and looked at the empty seat, waiting for him. His ticket to safety. Then he raised his eyes to stare out towards the other boats, or what he could see of them in the moonless night. Carla was out there. And Michelle and Helen. Safety lay out there. His earlier thoughts of marriage flitted through his mind, children as well. His future lay out there.

Suddenly he was scrabbling at the side of the boat. 'Wait!' he yelled. 'I'm getting off!' Paul's protests, mingled with Barry's, registered at the back of Liam's mind but he was concentrating too much on getting safely back to the ship without dropping through the gap between it and the water, it barely meant a thing to him. As he clambered back behind the lines, another man dived forwards and took his place. Paul's arms found him, wrapped him in a tight embrace unlike any he had ever before shared with his brother.

'You idiot,' Paul whispered in his ear. His voice was trembling. 'What did you go and do that for?'

'What? And leave you lot behind to fend for yourselves?'

'That was a very brave thing to do, son' Barry said quietly, resting an icy hand on Liam's shoulder. 'Very brave.'

Liam pulled away from Paul, surprised to find his brother quivering all over.

'You idiot,' Paul repeated shakily. He sounded like he was an inch from tears. His hand was locked around Liam's forearm like a vice. 'You should have saved yourself.'

'The thought crossed my mind,' Liam admitted, feeling surprisingly calm, 'but I could never have lived with myself.'

Barry was clapping Liam's shoulder affectionately as the three men and the young valet turned to watch collapsible C on its short journey to the water.

Paul was watching the mechanisms with interest, one arm still gripping Liam as though afraid to let go. He eyed the davits as though wishing he could step forward and take a closer look. Liam however, was focussing on the boats occupants, eyeing each face as they peered up at him and the others left behind on the ship. Each expression seemed to mirror the next: relief and mitigation. They were the lucky ones. They were the souls who were destined to live staring back at those destined to die.

The boat hit the water gently, almost elegantly and with two hefty men in charge of the oars, began it's slow journey away from the ship. Barry straightened himself up and turned away, Paul making to follow but Liam remained rooted to the spot, staring into the boat some twenty feet below. His heartbeat sped considerably, breathing turned shallow, his palms were suddenly coated in a layer of cold sweat as he stared at one passenger in particular. A passenger who, only minutes ago, was within arms reach of Liam himself. The man in question had kept his head down, resting his elbows on his knees as the boat was lowered but now they were safely away, he raised his eyes directly up to the boatdeck and found what he was searching for. Blue eyes met cold black ones and in that instant, there was noone else in the world save for those two. The air went suddenly mute; a sharp, piercing ringing inside his own head being the only sound discernable to Liam. He gripped the top rung of the railings as blood rushed to his head and looked around frantically for something or someone to call on for help but those remaining were busy making their way to the other side of the ship where the other collapsible boats were being launched. There was nothing to be done. Paul appeared at his shoulder, one hand resting on his upper back and Liam felt his brothers body tense as he too gazed upon the grim and bloody face of Tony Gordon.

'What the hell ...' he whispered as he watched a smirk creep its way onto Tony's face, the man even having the audacity to raise his hand and give the Connor's a little wave as the boat rowed further and further away.

'If I ever get my hands on that steward ...' Liam muttered. He gripped the railing so tight the blood ran from his knuckles leaving them horribly palid. His breathing came heavily and erratically through his nostrils quelling the urge to leap overboard, drag the despicable man from the boat and drown him then and there. He'd be doing the world a favour. The thought that he would probably now go on to survive made Liam feel physically ill.

'There's nothing you can do,' Paul whispered in his ear, his voice smooth like a balm on Liam's frayed nerves.

'I hope he dies from exposure!' Liam managed through gritted teeth.

'Forget him. They're loading boats on the other side,' Paul told him. 'The last ones. Father's already round there with Louisa's Alfred. We should get going ...' Gently, he prised Liam's fingers from the metal rail and steered him away. He threw one last glance at the retreating boat and caught a sickening glimpse of the triumph and elation on Tony Gordon's face. He turned away, feeling his own blood near boiling point, and concentrated instead on ushering his brother to the far side of the ship.

The crowd seemed to have doubled in size by the time they got there with more and more people spilling out from the main door.

'Steerage,' Paul murmured in astonishment. His fingers, still holding his brothers shoulders, tightened. 'I thought they were ... have they been down below all this time?'

Liam didn't respond. He was too busy thanking the Lord that Carla had gotten away safely or that might have been her arriving up on deck now only to find the boats all gone except for two. Collapsibles A and B remained, B on the point of lowering, A still bound to the roof of the officers deckhouse, just behind the bridge.

'Why aren't they getting that one down?' As Liam spoke, two burly men climbed up onto the roof and started fiddling frantically with the boats bindings. After a few moments, it came free and crashed down onto the deck but it was too late. It would never be ready on time. The ship tilted further forwards causing those on the deck to lurch and lose their balance. For a moment, the deck seemed to level out and silence befell the stunned passengers ... and all hell broke loose.

Collapsible B hit the water hard and set off immediately, the two crew members rowing frantically to clear themselves not just from the ship but from the scores of people climbing the rail and leaping into the water with the intent of swimming towards it. The boat would be swamped, would probably capsize and most likely everybody on it would perish. The crewmen rowed harder.

Standing apart from the chaos, almost as though inhabiting a different world, bandmaster Hartley tapped his violin. The ragtime ended and the strains of the Episcopal hymn 'Autumn' flowed across the deck and drifted in the still night far out over the water.

Concentration turned to the last remaining boat, collapsible A. It was fast becoming clear there would be no time to fit her into the davits and lower her safely and in any case, there was far too many people and not enough authority. Over a thousand milled the deck looking for space on a boat that seated only forty-seven.

The ship lurched forwards once more and the first wash of water swept up the deck. In desperation, people started climbing into the boat, not realising their weight would make it impossible to launch. Officer Lightoller was frantically ordering them out, trying to drag the boat single-handedly over to the davits but his efforts were futile. The stern began to rise precipitously out the water. There was another lurch forward and more water surged over the deck, submerging the bridge completely. Liam lost his balance and staggered to one side. He felt Paul's hands grabbing for him and caught hold of his forearm steadying himself just as the ship slipped further down, bringing about a wave that washed over the pair completely. Paul's body went rigid with shock while Liam sucked a breath through his teeth. The water was so unbelievably cold it seemed to suck all the life and warmth from him in an instant and he knew that if the water submerged him it was game over. There was no possibility he could survive in such conditions.

'Lets move!' He called to Paul over the screams and the cries, the wailing of children. Gripping one another tightly, they began to fight their way through the crowd towards the rising stern.

'What about father?' Paul yelled back.

'He has enough sense to know what to do! He'll be making his way up too!'

All around them, people were having the same idea and it became damn near impossible to navigate their way through the horde intent on reaching the furthest point from the water. To Liam's right he saw two men climb the railings, shake hands and leap over the side. He shuddered at the thought and redoubled his efforts.

The water surged further up the boat deck plunging the bow deeper while the stern rose higher, making it all the more difficult to climb but eventually, sheer willpower got both boys to the uppermost point where they gripped hold of the railings as though their lives depended on it which of course, they did.

There was a horribly loud creak followed by the ear-wrenching sound of twisting metal and the first enormous funnel wobbled on its base. Liam watched with horrified fascination as it swayed back and forth and, as if playing in slow motion, started to fall towards the water, a shower of sparks cascading from its torn base. It landed in the ocean with an almighty crash, crushing many swimmers under tonnes of steel and sending a wave that swamped others.

Liam felt his mouth dry, bile rose in his throat. This was all strangely surreal. It couldn't actually be happening, could it? Any minute now he was going to wake up in the safety of his A-deck cabin, warm and cosy in his bed and he and Paul would have a laugh at the absurdity of the dream in the morning. The unsinkable ship ... sinking. It was laughable.

But Paul was right next to him, his face pale and drawn, knuckles gripping the railing, chilled breath billowing from his blue-tinged lips. Real and very much awake.

A great roar rumbled up from the ships bowels and her tilt grew steeper. People still trying to reach the top fell back as the ships angle grew too great for them to hang on. The strains of 'Autumn' were buried in a jumble of falling musicians and instruments and the air instead, filled with screaming and distant roaring from the ships boilers. Many people hit the water with such force the impact alone would surely have killed or incapacitated them. But, Liam found himself thinking, maybe it was better that way. A quick end rather than drowning or freezing to death as was surely his fate. Still, he hung on, watching as more and more passengers lost their hold on railings, ropes, wires and slid inexorably towards the sea.

'Paul, take your lifebelt off,' he said suddenly, eyes on a young man who had plunged into the icy water after a drop of thirty or more feet.

'Are you crazy?' Paul shouted, eyes wide with incredulity. His mouth went slack as he saw the seriousness of Liam's expression.

'I mean it!' he shouted. 'take it off!' One hand clinging to the rail, he started undoing the straps around his own lifebelt.

'Why?' Paul shook his head uncomprehendingly.

By way of reply, Liam nodded towards a woman who had just lost her hold on the railing further down the deck. Paul followed his brothers eyeline and watched as the womans mouth formed an O while she fell back, her scream lost in the deafening roar from the ships boilers. She hit the water and disappeared beneath the surface for a second before her lifebelt brought her back up but the device, intended to save lives, was too bouyant. Shooting right out the water and hitting her chin with such force it snapped her head back breaking her neck instantly. Her large, unseeing eyes stared up at the ship, glistening with the reflection of the canopy of stars overhead.

Paul swallowed and for a moment, Liam thought he was going to vomit. Then his eyes travelled up slowly to meet his brothers and without a word he started releasing the straps on his own lifebelt, pulling it over his head and tossing it away.

The _Titanic_ was now absolutely perpendicular though, incredibly, her lights still burned casting a sort of murky glow over the scene. Her three dripping propellers glistened even in the darkness, devoid of the life which had pulsed through them mere hours ago. Both Paul and Liam along with countless others clung to railings, ropes, wires, anything they could find, by their fingertips and again Liam wished he'd jumped while he had the chance. This way they would probably be sucked down as she made her final descent and would most likely drown. It was too late to do anything about it now though, he was far too high in the air to hope to survive such a jump. He had no choice but to hang on and hope for the best. The lights went out, flashed on again, and went out for good. His wide eyes met Pauls round ones and they seemed to say a silent goodbye, no words needed.

But then a gut-wrenching growl echoed up from the ships boilers. the horrible mangling sound of wrenching, heaving metal filled the air. It was as though the ships very walls were being torn apart. A shattering roar sounded and Liam closed his eyes, squeezing them shut and praying that it would be quick.

But then the ship halted, its rising stern dangling in mid-air. He opened his eyes in bewilderment and looked down. The steel of the hull had finally given way, the metal ripped apart by the enormous weight and the mighty ship had been torn in two.

And then a remarkable thing happened. The stern started to fall back. It hit the water with an almighty crash that rattled Liam's very bones and floated almost daintily all by itself like an enormous raft. He got shakily to his feet, the deck having levelled out and for a moment, just stared in astonished wonder as the bow section dropped away and plunged smoothly beneath the waves, vanishing forever as it started its long descent to the ocean floor but somehow, by some miracle, the stern section was still floating. He gave a strangled cry of joy, gripping his brother in a hug as he thought now perhaps they might be saved. Paul looked dumbfounded, at a complete loss for words. He was staring over the side to the hundreds of people in the sea crying out for help which would never come. He turned away and returned his brothers hug with gusto, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he clung gratefully to him. Relief like he'd never felt before flooded through him and he squeezed his eyes shut, ordering the tears back to their source.

But then the stern began to rise again, quicker than before and the brothers broke apart, gripped by renewed horror. The remaining half of the ship was filling with water and could not float by itself.

Liam gripped the railing with both hands as, beside him, Paul did the same thing. This was it. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut and thought of Carla. He thought of the first time he had seen her standing at the port in Southampton, her long dark hair shining in the sunlight as she stared up at the magnificent ship in awe and of the strange jolt he had felt in the pit of his stomach as their eyes met over the crowd. He thought of that first meeting down on D-deck where she had gotten embarassed about her own audacity after having approached him herself. Giving Maria and his family the slip to duck down below and find her ... spending that first night in her bed ... dancing in the lounge ... holding her trembling body in his arms after finding where Tony had held her ... her perfect face, wet with tears as she said goodbye and her magnificent green eyes glistening with the reflection of the stars, locking firmly onto his as her lifeboat was lowered further and further from him. He thought of her sitting in the first class dining saloon ... watching him from the third class berth while he stood on the boatdeck and wished he was down there with her ... the sight of her bare shoulders as he gently peeled the ivory dress from her slender figure ... her beautiful body naked in his arms ...

Then he thought of the imaginary pictures. His and Carla's wedding day ... her looking splendid in a magnificent white dress, contrasting beautifully with her dark hair ... the children and grandchildren they would never have ...

The remaining half of the ship was vertical, the stern pointing heavenward while the lucky few who had kept clear of the water so far clung to it for dear life. Paul had climbed over the railing so he was now perched on top of it, heaving Liam over with him.

'We have to jump,' he said urgently, peeling the jacket from his shoulders. 'If we stay here we'll be sucked down and probably won't resurface.'

Liam nodded his agreement, following Paul's lead by removing his own dinner jacket. The garment was heavy, it would probably weigh him down and make it harder to swim. The brothers got to their feet, wobbling a little as the boat swayed. Then, without a noise, it began to slide into the water, beginning its two-and-a-half mile descent to the ocean floor. Liam's heart was beating wildly. It felt as if a tight band was being wrapped around his chest, squeezing the life from him.

'On three,' Paul said.

Liam reached for his hand and nodded. 'Don't let go,' he whispered.

Paul raised his eyes and met his brothers. They shared a last, tentative smile. 'I won't.' He looked back to the water rushing up to meet them. 'Ready?' he called.

Liam nodded silently, concentrating hard on his breathing.

'One ... ' to their left, another couple leapt, hand in hand. They hit the water and started swimming towards the lifeboats.

'Two ...' The screams of those in the water seemed to intensify, filling every fibre of Liam's body and mind. A sudden image of Tony Gordon flashed before his eyes, his smirking face as his rescue boat disappeared into the darkness. Repressed rage pulsed through Liam's veins, giving him a sudden sense of purpose as he watched the water rush ever closer.

'Three!'

Without pausing to think, Liam inhaled a deep breath, gripping Paul's hand so tightly his fingers hurt, took a step forward ... and jumped.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading, please review :)<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I kind of lost my way a bit with this but here (finally) is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy :)**

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><p>The shock of hitting the sea was overwhelming, the plunge into the icy water heart-stopping and brutal. The pain was excruciating. All over. Like a thousand knives being driven relentlessly into his battered body. It was a cold so intense that every one of Liam's muscles spiralled into instant spasm. His mouth opened wide and icy water flooded his throat and lungs. He was being sucked deeper and deeper into the freezing ocean. Down and down he went, further into the blackness as water rushed past his ears. His lungs felt as though they would burst.<p>

Then the grip from the suction seemed to loosen and, firmly telling himself not to panic, Liam kicked with all his might, wondering how it could be possible to be so utterly cold and yet still alive. He pushed with his arms and started to rise, mercifully breaking the surface of the water moments later. He sucked in great lungfuls of air, fighting the excruciating pain as his muscles contracted ruthlessly, and coughed up a stream of watery bile but his relief was short-lived: Paul was nowhere to be seen.

The sea around him was alive with people screaming and thrashing, their howls of anguish interspersed by gasps for breath but his brother did not appear to be among them.

'Paul!' Liam spluttered, turning all directions as he searched nearby faces, panic and hysteria etched into every one. He did not remember the moment their interlinked hands had been mercilessly torn apart as they fought against the ships final current. He could only pray that his brother had resurfaced also and was one in the sea of faces surrounding him 'Paul!' he shouted again, paddling furiously to stay afloat. 'Father!' he tried for Barry was nowhere to be seen either, but his voice was lost amongst the cacophony of shrieks and yells, the howls of anguish and screams of pain from his fellow passengers.

There was no hope. Liam knew that for certain. The water was so cold that unless survivors could be pulled out within minutes, perhaps an hour at most for the stronger ones, hypothermia would kill every one of them and for a rescue to take place so quickly, a boat would have to be already at the scene. With none yet in sight the harrowing inevitability was clear.

His heart was chilled to ice. He felt ill with grief at the number of lives that would surely be lost but there was no time for frozen shock. Something in him was not ready to give up on life, a part of him - previously unrecognised and full to the brim with survival instinct - was unwilling to let go just yet.

The glassy sea around the mass of bodies was littered with crates, planking and an array of floating furniture, and every so often another piece would bubble to the surface from somewhere far below. To the people in the water they seemed like small offerings of hope to which they clung desperately if they were lucky enough to find themselves close to one, or to each other if they weren't as though hoping in desperation that some kind of buoyancy would prolong their lives. Some way off, three or four people were fighting for control of a battered deck chair and, not knowing what else to do, Liam began to paddle towards them, his breath coming in short, sharp, painful bursts. He could feel the peculiar sensation of ice forming in his hair and wondered vaguely of the colour of his tingling lips. Feeling in his fingers and toes had long since vanished, his feet being reduced to nothing more than blocks of freezing flesh but he swam on relentlessly, avoiding flailing limbs and lifeless bodies, trying not to picture his brother as one of them.

He could feel fingers tearing at his clothes and grasping at his hair as he passed but he dimly noticed it, concentrating as he was on progressing forward, though even he could not fail to notice the arm which clamped suddenly and very tightly around his neck, it's owner panting loudly behind him, squeezing as though holding on for dear life. Somehow, Liam wriggled loose, coughing and spluttering as sea water invading his lungs but the man - crying out for help, clearly in a state of hysteria - grabbed him again. This time Liam's head went under. his fingers scrabbled uselessly at the arm clamped around his neck but it was no use, the grip was too firm. It took a vigorous kick to the shin to free him and as he resurfaced, gasping for air, he took to paddling as fast as his unfeeling limbs would allow, not looking back at his panicked attacker, but the deck chair had been lost from view. Unperturbed, Liam turned on the spot and swivelled his head in all directions, searching for another piece of floating debris to cling to, all the while talking aloud to himself. 'Keep paddling,' he uttered over and over again between gasps of breath. 'Keep paddling.' Two things he knew he absolutely must not lose sight of: his stamina and his wits. Lose either and it was game over.

'Keep paddling.'

And then he saw it. Possibly the most glorious sight to ever have met with his young eyes: safety in the form of collapsible lifeboat B which had been sitting on the deck when the ship began the descent to its final resting place and had been washed clear by the falling funnel. The strongest and the luckiest of the _Titanic's_ passengers now converged upon it. Not too far off, collapsible A was floating the right way up, it also had been on the deck when the ship sank but it was already crowded and was far further down in the water than it should have been.

Liam made for boat B, keeping his eyes firmly ahead, allowing the lifeboat out of his sight for not one moment. The exertion and the cold had him panting long before he was even close and the dreadful feeling that he was leaving Paul behind almost had him beating a retreat but he forced himself to carry on, knowing in his heart that the upturned boat was his only chance of survival and if Paul and his father had any sense they'd be making for it too.

Four or five people were already crouching on the boats keel as he approached and Officer Lightoller was in the process of hauling himself aboard where he lay face down, his body heaving with the effort of renewing each breath. He turned his head to the side and watched silently as Liam approached, holding out a weary hand which Liam accepted gratefully. With surprising strength for a man who looked to be on the brink of unconsciousness, Lightoller lifted Liam right out of the water and onto the boats keel then fell back without a word and closed his eyes. Physically unable to express his thanks vocally, Liam thumped the mans shoulder genially and his thanks was recieved with the slightest of nods. Then Liam collapsed onto his front and lay, heaving, coughing and trembling with cold, but grateful to be out of the icy water.

_Wits and stamina_, he repeated mentally. _Wits and stamina_. Though stamina didn't seem so important now he was out the water so long as he didn't freeze to death. It was all about the wits now, keeping a cool head and most importantly: not falling asleep.

With each new man who climbed aboard, the collapsible sagged lower in the water but still more came. Some squeezed on where they found a space, others were content to stay in the water and hang onto its sides. Liam was beyond caring, exhausted as he was. He lay still, huddled between Officer Lightoller and another man he did not recognise, prayed that the boat would not sink and continually warned himself to keep his eyes open though the longer he lay there the heavier his lids seemed to become.

Collapsible B was wallowing under the weight of thirty or more men and the boats passengers were in danger of sinking for a second time that evening. Liam could feel the icy tendrils of the water curl almost lovingly around his toes as it lapped at the side of the boat but he had no energy left to drag them from its grasp. Merely staying awake was enough to drain him of any remaining strength.

_Wits and ..._

Somebody had procured an oar from somewhere and was using it to bat would be passengers away. The boat was full, the man with the oar declared. Anymore and they'd go under.

'That's all right, boys; keep cool,' one of the swimmers replied when he was asked to stay clear. Then he swam off, calling back, 'Good luck, God bless you.'

'Surely there's room for one or two more,' another swimmer pleaded. His trembling voice registered deep at the back of Liam's recesses though it took him a few moments to place it, sluggish as he was.

'Absolutely not,' the man with the oar declared, gesturing towards the open sea with his chin. 'Be off with you.'

With a massive effort, Liam peeled his face from the boats keel where newly formed ice had adhered it to the wood and raised his head an inch or two in time to see a familiar head of black hair turn around and beat a retreat, swivelling left to right as its owner searched for another raft. Liam's heart swelled with a sudden rush of delighted gratitude and he let loose a wild laugh, his breath catching in his throat and turning the noise into a heaving cough.

'Wait!' he called though the sound came out nothing more than a weak grunt. 'Wait!' he tried again, the word forming on his lips but refusing to make itself heard. His heart was thumping in his chest, the man was already half-way back to the crowd of less adept swimmers. With a huge and punishing effort, he pushed himself upright and drew a deep breath into his aching lungs. 'That's my brother!' he shouted, the words ringing like bells in the quiet of the night.

Paul's head snapped around, his black eyes dancing as he sought the speakers face.

The man with the oar was watching, suspicion evident in his eyes. 'Be that as it may ...' he began slowly, watching as the swimmers eyes landed on the dark-haired man sprawled next to Lightoller and widened in delight. '...there is still no room on the boat.'

'Give over, man,' Lightoller murmured from beside Liam. 'Who put you in charge?'

Liam shimmied over a little and stuck his hand out, stretching as far as it would go and Paul, whos deathly-pale face was registering a mixture of shock and disbelief, swam forward and grasped it firmly, using it as leverage to haul himself out the water and into the smallest of spaces created by Liam and Lightoller who had budged up as far as possible. He lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath before looking up into his little brothers wet eyes.

'I thought I'd lost you, bro,' Liam said in a hoarse whisper as he gripped Paul's shivering shoulder tightly and allowed his head to drop onto the other one.

Paul gave a half-smile, half-grimace by way of reply. 'Not a chance, kid,' he said, ruffling the icy hair at the back of his little brothers neck. 'Not a chance.'

For a while there was silence on boat B as the men lying on the keel concentrated on nothing more than staying alive, listening to the rapidly diminishing cries for help from those still in the water.

Then someone at the opposite end of the boat from Paul and Liam spoke in a small and hesitant voice: 'Don't the rest of you think we ought to pray?' it asked.

When no objections were raised, the speaker began to recite the Lord's Prayer and gradually, all his fellow passengers joined in until their voices rang like a chorus across the water.

Slowly, the boat began to drift away from the wreckage, out into the lonely night.

* * *

><p>'Just take my hand mi'lady. I'll see you right.' The smiling dark-haired man offered Carla his hand. His eyes were soft and warm, pale blue in colour she'd guess, though it was impossible to tell in the darkness of the night. There were creases at the corners only emphasised by his kind smile. He reminded her somewhat of Liam's dad, Barry, though she couldn't think why as the two men looked nothing alike.<p>

She accepted his hand with a small smile of her own though it felt unfamiliar and foreign on her face and made her cheek muscles ache to keep it there. How wrong, she thought it, to smile under such circumstances. Still ... at least something was now being done about it. Perhaps if she prayed hard enough, God would see fit to return her new-found love to her.

Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears as she rose to her feet and made the unsteady crossing from lifeboat number six to number 10. Five of the boats dispelled from the _Titanic_ had regrouped and were now tied together, numbers 14, 6, 10, 12 and Collapsible D, sitting in the ocean like a string of beads while passengers were jostled along to empty number 14.

'Consider yourselves under my command,' a voice had ordered and nobody had raised a complaint as Fifth Officer Lowe took charge of the situation. It was the same officer who was now helping Carla into a seat beside a shivering Michelle, dressed in all his White Star Line finery, he looked like a man who ought to be in charge.

'Good girl,' he murmured as he eased his hold on her upper arm and turned to the next lady. It was nerve-wracking work. Twice, a passenger almost fell into the space between the boats and to Lowe's dismay, one little old lady who had been suspiciously nimble on her feet had turned out to be a man in a shawl. Officer Lowe had said nothing but glared at the disgraced young man and pitched him into the boat as hard as he could.

Lifeboat 14 was ready to go - with a hand-picked crew - by 2.40am, twenty minutes after the _Titanic_ had disappeared beneath the waves, but Officer Lowe insisted on waiting. Waiting for the swimmers to disperse somewhat to make their little expedition safe and then with the time it took to row back to the scene, it was well after 3am before the boat edged into the wreckage. The Titanic had been sunk nigh on one hour and unfortunately, Lowe seemed to have been a little ignorant as to how long a person can survive in water of such a temperature. There was, he learned, no need to wait for the crowd to 'disperse' but at least some lives were saved by his going back. Boat number 14 returned some time later with only three extra people on board and none of which, Carla could tell immediately, were Connor men.

She did nothing to stop the tears which fell thick and fast into her lap as Michelle gripped her hand and wept silently. Helen sat to Michelles other side, remarkably stoic for a woman who looked to have lost two sons and a husband in a matter of hours but then again, Carla thought, perhaps she was in shock which, given the circumstances, would hardly be surprising.

She shivered as a sudden chill ran the length of her spine and pulled the lapels of Liam's jacket closer together noting as she did that her fingertips had turned the colour of puce and were quite painful to the touch. She drew them close and wiped her tears clumsily with her knuckles before wrapping her arms around her body and tucking each hand under the opposite armpit. The warmth was a blessed heat to her painful fingertips and she shuddered, expelling a long breath as she scanned the horizon for a non-existant rescue ship. A strange noise drew her attention as she pulled her arms in closer to her body and she glanced across at Michelle, wondering if she was the source. There it was again, an odd crinkling noise; like paper being scrunched up. It wasn't coming from Michelle. Whatever it was was in the inside pocket of Liam's jacket. Gingerly, she pulled her hand free and snaked her fingers through the silken folds of the expensive dinner-jacket until they came into contact with something solid but, feeling a sudden rush of guilt at her blatant disregard for Liam's privacy, she dropped the object back and made to pull her hand away, glancing around uneasily as though worried someone may be watching her, but in the end curiosity got the better of her.

It was a brown paper bag, plain but for the White Star Line logo of red flag with white star printed neatly on the corner. Michelle's eyes watched too as Carla solicitously opened the bag and pulled from it a wad of white tissue-paper. With as much care as was possible with her unfeeling fingers, Carla pulled back the paper until it revealed within its folds a small silver locket which she tipped onto her open palm and peered at curiously. It was a tiny pendant in the shape of a heart set on a beautifully delicate-looking chain. The neckace was simple and elegant and Carla treated it with the utmost care and respect, knowing such an item must have cost a small fortune.

'I've never seen it before,' Michelle murmured curiously as she too peered at the pendant. She studied it intently but did not try to touch it or take it from Carla.

'I expect he bought it on the ship,' Carla said, gesturing to the brown paper bag with the White Star Line logo emblazed upon it.

Michelle nudged Carla's shoulder with her own and the older girl glanced up questioningly. A small smile was playing across Michelle's lips. 'I bet he bought it for you,' she said softly.

Carla stared at Michelle then back to the necklace in her hand. 'Do you think?' she asked in a small voice. Her eyes suddenly burned with fresh, hot tears.

'Mmhmm.' Michelle gave a quiet laugh as her own eyes overflowed and oppressive tears ran down her cheeks and dripped from the end of her chin. 'Who would have thought my goofy big brother could have been so romantic?' Her smile faltered as her eyes traced the outline of the chain dangling from Carla's fingers and when she spoke again, her tone was unnaturally high. 'He never got the chance to ...' her face crumpled as a fresh bout of sobs overcame her tired body and completely on a whim, Carla turned in her seat so she was facing the younger girl and tenderly wrapped her arms around her slender frame, pulling her body close and drawing comfort from the embrace as her own tears began to fall.

In the distance, another lifeboat let off some green flares but no ship appeared on the horizon.

Carla clutched the dainty necklace in her fist and raised her eyes to the night sky and the vast canopy of stars twinkling innocently overhead. She had never before seen a shooting star what with the air back in Manchester being so thick with pollution but here they were in abundance, so beautiful they seemed surreal. She used her thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks and gazed overhead, remembering something she was once told about how everytime a shooting star appeared in the sky ... someone somewhere died.

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><p>Despite his best efforts and constant self-chiding, Liam found himself falling into a reverie, lulled by the gentle sway of the upside-down boat into a state of semi-consciousness. The cries and screams from those unfortunate souls in the water had eventually ceased, leaving behind an awful pressing, mind-numbing silence. And then it happened.<p>

Appearing suddenly and looking so utterly surreal in all its beauty that Liam momentarily lost what little breath he had in his lungs. He squeezed his eyes closed, gave his head a tiny shake and reopened then. Still there.

Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. Mesmorising shapes of green-blue spectral light filtering through the night air, reflecting off the waters surface and dancing across the night. Weary eyes watched in awe as the heavens provided a show made all the more beautiful for the tragedy occuring beneath it.

'Would you look at that ...' Liam heard Officer Lightoller murmur under his breath as his eyes followed the lights in wonder.

'Paul,' Liam croaked, reaching behind him to grab his brothers arm. 'Paul, look at this.' No response. His arm felt like a block of solid ice under Liam's fingers. He turned his head, moving slowly and tenderly, mindful of his frozen muscles. 'Paul,' he tried again, giving the arm a weak shake.

Paul gave a little grunt in response. His eyes were open and glassy but the visible puffs of breath escaping his lips calmed Liam's frantically beating heart. He released his brothers arm and sank back allowing the relief to wash over him. For a moment there he'd thought ... he shook his head, it didn't bear thinking about.

'Doesn't matter,' Liam whispered. The spectacular light show appeared to be over. Gone as quickly as it had come. 'Don't go to sleep,' he said in as firm a voice as he could manage. Another grunt.

Further down the boat a body was tugged free from the grip of the ice and allowed to slide clear of the boat. Desolate eyes watched as the corpses head slid beneath the surface of the water and did not reappear. Liam lowered his own head, rested his cheek on his icy hand and allowed his thoughts to drift to lifeboat number 6 and the three women onboard. The night was a cold one and Carla had been wearing only a thin dress with nothing but his jacket to cover her shoulders. He hoped fervently that she wasn't too exposed or she'd most likely catch her death of cold.

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><p>The night passed slowly. Towards dawn a slight breeze sprang up and bitter-cold waves were thrown up and splashed over the feet, shins and knees of the men on boat B. More bodies toppled over the side and disappeared from sight while the survivors remained stoic, silent and unfeeling, each fighting his own individual battle against the elements.<p>

The first faint signs of dawn crept over the horizon, a blaze of pink light streaking the sky as the darkness melted away. A lifeboat in the distance set off more green flares.

Liam was doing his best to stop himself from falling into another cold induced stupor but he was well aware that it was only a matter of time before sleep claimed him and it would be a sleep from which he'd never awaken. Lying next to him, Paul's eyes were already shut. Liam gave him as sharp a nudge as he could manage but his brothers eyes remained closed.

In the distance a light suddenly flashed from nowhere followed by a far off boom and several heads, Liam's included, were lifted stiffly, face peeled from the keel. All eyes scanned the south-east horizon hopefully.

'What was that?' Officer Lightoller murmured He too was staring, eyes bloodshot and wide-open. His matted hair was frozen stiff and his teeth were chattering.

'Lightening,' Liam replied. He had lowered his head again, tucking his chin to his chest in a measly effort to retain any lingering bodyheat.

'I don't think it was ...' Lightoller said but Liam had lost interest. He was staring at his brothers face: skin without a vestige of colour, lips so blue and dry they looked as though they would crack open at his touch. Frost had settled on his eyelashes and brows, ageing his youthful face. There were no puffs of breath escaping his discoloured lips.

'Paul?' Liam asked weakly. He gave his brothers arm a shake. 'Wake up, Paul.'

Lightoller began to laugh - at least, Liam took it to be a laugh. The noise sounded more of a guffaw to his ears - and clutched weakly at his heart. His widening grin bordered on maniacal as he pushed himself to an upright position and pointed out across the ocean. Faint cheers could be heard erupting from a distant lifeboat, just visible between two enormous icebergs as they too saw the wondrous sight.

'Let us all pray to God,' a mans exalted voice sang out from further down the keel, 'For there is a ship on the horizon and it's making for us!'

The men in boat B let out a yelp of joy and all began talking at once, the boat rocking dangerously as they attempted to rise as one to a seated position and gain a better view of their rescuer. Several bubbles appeared as the boat sank lower in the water.

Liam did not feel the sway of the boat, heard nothing but ringing in his own ears, concentrating as he was on his brothers pale face. He felt a sudden sickness attack his fragile body, a terrribly sharp ache which seemed to come from within though in an oddly detatched way, as though somebody near him was suffering it. What was absolutely real and utterly inescapable was the awful pressing feeling in his chest, so tight he felt his heart must surely stop beating. He raised a shaky hand and ran his fingers over Pauls cheek. The skin felt cold but soft, so soft, like that of a newborn baby and Liam knew in his heart, even as his fingers dropped to his brothers neck, that he would feel no pulse.

'Paul, please wake up,' he pleaded regardless, his voice cracking with unsuppressed emotion. He glanced up to see a bright light in the distance, blurred by a rush of unshed tears, and the outline of a steamer pounding up towards them, firing off rockets to reassure the_ Titanic's _people that help was on the way.

There was nothing to find. Nothing to offer even the faintest glimmer of hope. Paul Connor's suffering was over.

Liam ran a frozen hand through his brothers hair, shaking from it tiny shards of ice and as delicately as he could manage, brushed the frost from his brows and lashes. 'There's a boat coming, Paul,' he told him weakly. 'We're saved,' he said as the first scalding tear spilled onto his icy cheek. 'We're saved.' He bent down and rested his forehead on his elder brothers, washing it with stormy, heart-wrung but ultimately silent tears.

* * *

><p>Carla watched as an elderly woman dressed in a tattered, worn grey dress retrieved a newspaper from under her seat and set it alight, waving it in the air towards the ship steaming towards them as though she were fearful it may miss them altogether. She may have looked ridiculous but she was by no means the only one. Somewhere in the distance, a survivor in another lifeboat had had the same idea: setting fire to something and frantically waving it around. The woman was positively hysterical and Carla couldn't help but smile as she watched her yell and holler, wave her arms, stamp her feet, all the while waving the flaming newspaper over her head. Nobody stopped her. Nobody told her to sit down and stop making a fuss. Even the ladies of first class watched with amusement as this obviously unashamed and unabashed creature made a show of herself and ultimately, them. The night had been so arduous and painful and the relief of imminent rescue was so sweet, so exquisite and so strong it had succeeded in even breaking through the social barriers. Ladies of first class hugged ladies of third class, they held hands tightly and cried on each others shoulders perhaps realising for the first time that underneath the beautiful dresses, fine jewellery and flawless make-up, they were all just human-beings. After all, no amount of money or finery could have helped them over the past few hours. First class men had been denied access to the boats, going into the water to fight for survival with second and third class men. Women from all classes had been helped, dragged or coerced into whichever boat was available, regardless of which deck their cabin happened to be on. To Carla, it felt like a milestone had been reached. A new beginning was on the horizon and all she could do now was wait to see whether or not she'd be sharing it with Liam.<p>

* * *

><p>Morning broke over the Atlantic Ocean, bringing with it a beautiful coral dawn. It was to be another beautiful day at sea, the water still as a reservoir. The men in boat B had fallen silent again, watching the huge steamer come ever closer, stopping along the way to retrieve survivors then pushing the little wooden lifeboats back out to sea as the bigger vessel moved on.<p>

And still, Liam clung to Paul as though hoping he could squeeze some life back into his brothers body. The tears had stopped, had been replaced by a numbness of the brain. Almost as though there had already been too much sorrow and disappointment for one night. He was full to the brim with no room for this new grief. It would come, he supposed, perhaps when he had to face his family again - what was left of it anyway - and break the news to them. He was going to live. The unfairness of it stung but he'd concentrate on that in the here and now. He'd have the rest of his life to come to terms with his brothers death. For the first time since hitting the water, Liam allowed his overloaded mind to drift towards his father and the young valet boy - the maids sweetheart - that he had with him. Had they survived? With all odds stacked against them it seemed unlikely but then, weren't the odds the same for Liam himself?

He reigned his far too vivid imagination in, stopping it from conjuring images of his fathers body floating around in the freezing water - head tipped back, resting on the back of the lifebelt, eyes wide and glassy, skin a deathly pale - and concentrated instead on a warm blanket which might await him on the rescuing steamer ... a bowl of hot broth ... a mug of steaming tea ... and the woman he loved by his side, her head resting on his shoulder while his hand snaked around her slender waist.

The image was almost enough to make him forget the horror of his reality and he instinctively held his brother closer to him, knowing the time to say goodbye forever was approaching.

The morning was bright enough now for the word _Carpathia_ to be read on the steamers side. The Cunard liner had pulled out all the stops to reach the _Titanic's _last known position as quickly as possible but as its crew peered overboard, searching for more lifeboats, it was all too apparent that they had arrived far too late. The captain gave the order for the engines to be switched off and the ship waited patiently for the lifeboats to come to it rather than the other way round. The boats were, afterall, scattered over a four mile radius and the sea was littered with icebergs. Row the boats did. One by one, making their way to the ship and each passenger helped up the ladder and onto the deck where they were greeted with warm blankets and medical attention if need be.

Officer Lightoller was the first aboard boat B to spot the obvious problem: their boat was upside down and its direction was at the mercy of the wind which was beginning to pick up. The men were using their weight to keep it steady but everytime they rocked back and forth, a little more air would escape and the keel would sink just that bit further into the water. With Lightoller shouting directions, the men were just about managing to keep it steady but time was running out for them and so, in his urgency, Officer Lightoller fished an officers whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill blast. The sound not only carried to the ship but told the crew that an officer was calling. Two almost empty lifeboats were dispatched at once, heading for the strange object in the water with thirty odd men huddled together on it.

'Come on,' Lightoller urged them under his breath, one eye marking their progress, the other watching the water line on the upturned boats keel. He warned the men not to scramble as the boats approached otherwise they'd all be pitched back into the sea and the men, like a faithful crew, obeyed without question though everytime someone leapt to safety, the boat gave a sickening roll.

Liam had looked up once to see the approaching lifeboats and then lowered his face back alongside his brothers, gazing at him as though hoping he could somehow bring him back to life just by staring. The thought that these would be their final moments together almost enough to reduce him once again to tears but he held back, instead saying his goodbyes, ignoring the piercing agony in his heart, silently thanking the man for his help in finding Carla who would almost certainly be at the bottom of the ocean by now if it hadn't been for him.

'I'll never forget, Paul,' he whispered hoarsely into his brothers ear, feeling the ache in his chest intensify. 'I owe you everything ... and I'll never forget.'

A hand clamped down gently on his shoulder. 'Time to go,' Lightollers voice said from above him. Liam clasped his brothers stiff, unfeeling hand in his own and brought it to rest on his lips, squeezing his eyes shut in bitter agony. 'There's nothing you can do for him now, son,' Lightoller's voice continued. 'Let him go.'

The pressure on Liam's shoulder increased and the strong hand slid down to his upper arm, gripping firmly and pulling gently. Liam forced his eyes open and gazed down upon his elder brothers face for one last time, noting how peaceful he looked in death.

And he let go. Pauls body barely made a ripple as he slid off the upturned boat and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Liam stared at the spot for several moments, feeling nothing but an all encompassing numbness. This didn't feel real. How could it be real when only hours ago they stood united in the face of danger in the form of the psychopathic Scot, Tony Gordon, and rescued the lady from his clutches. How could this be possible when only twenty-four hours ago they had set off down to the lower decks together ... when Paul was only just coming out of his shell, so to speak, realising that his parents virtues weren't always the right ones. They had become closer in the last few days than they had done in twenty odd years and now ... now it was over. The Connor boys would never stand shoulder to shoulder again and the thought made Liam dizzy. The pressure on his upper arm increased as Lightoller gently pulled him to his feet. Liam complied, grateful that someone else was in charge, knowing that if left to his own devices, he would have sat there all day long, staring at the spot that had claimed his brother. Floating lazily over his grave until he himself was taken to the icy depths.

'One big step,' Lightoller was saying. There were hands reaching for him from inside the lifeboat and he allowed himself to be manouvered into it and placed on a proper seat next to shivering middle-aged man who turned and flashed him a jubilant grin, showing a handful of yellowing teeth.

'We did it, boy,' he said gleefully, clapping Liam's thigh in ecstasy. 'It's over!'

Liam offered nothing in return. Not a smile, not a word. He felt cocooned in his own little bubble; a bubble of misery and grief in which he sat alone. _This isn't over_, he thought to himself as Lightoller and a handful of other men grabbed the oars and began the slow row to the safety of the steamer. _This will never be over ..._


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello :) Does anyone remember me?**

**I believe an update for this story is well overdue as it's been almost one year exactly since the last instalment. I can only apologise and hope I've not been entirely forgotten. I realise it's frustrating when updates are not frequent but I just want to say a huge thankyou to those who continued to review throughout the year. It may not seem like it but your encouragement went a long way in helping to inspire and to motivate me. All I can say is that writing is a hobby but more important things have to come first and even though it may be at the back of my mind, after a long day I struggle to find the focus required.**

**That being said, I have no intention of abandoning this story, infact I have a sequel planned if I ever manage to get around to it. This one must be finished first though and this chapter is the penultimate one. It was originally intended to be the final chapter but it just kept getting longer and longer and eventually I split it into two and so the second part is almost completed and will be ready to post soon. **

**Maybe even before the end of the year :)**

* * *

><p>The sun was edging over the horizon, and the ice sparkled in its first long rays. The bergs looked dazzling in shades of brilliant white, pink, mauve and deep blue depending on how the rays hit them and how the shadows fell. The sea was a beautiful bright blue, littered with small chunks of ice, some no bigger than a man's fist, which bobbed along on the current. Overhead the sky was gold, promising another glorious day. It was like a picture from a child's story book.<p>

It seemed a cruel twist to Liam who stood on the deck of the Cunarder _Carpathia_, that such indomitable beauty could prove to be so deadly. That one of these icebergs, twinkling innocently in the newborn sun, could have been the cause of such meaningless tragedy.

He shivered slightly in the bitter breeze and pulled the blanket, which had been wrapped tightly around his shoulders, closer to him. The right thing to do now would be to head below decks and find his mother and his sister and young lover, who he knew must be recuperating somewhere - probably fearing the worst - but his feet seemed unable to move, knowing that sweet reunion would only be marred by the tragic news he must deliver and the news that he in turn would surely hear: Barry had not been amongst those who had climbed up to safety.

Liam had watched in an oddly detached way as woman after woman had clambered aboard, each with varying degrees of fright, shock and sheer relief on their faces. Occasionally it was a gentleman who appeared over the top of the last rung but male survivors were few and far between. Mail sacks were dangled over the edge for children to crawl into and babies to be placed upon until finally, the last of the_ Titanic's _lifeboats had been cast adrift and the ships engines rumbled to life.

With a sickening swoop of the stomach, he remembered the excitement as the engines of the _Titanic_ had roared into being back in Southampton. The sea of smiling faces, each shining with happiness at the promise of a new life. Five days ago ... was that really all it had been? He wondered how many of them had perished and forced himself to think of something else. Memories were too painful, emotions too raw.

A door opened somewhere further down the deck and the cheerful smell of coffee brewing wafted up towards Liam. He half-turned towards it and watched as a man emerged, glanced around and spotted him. Mindless of the manners his mother had impressed upon him, Liam turned deliberately away as the gentleman moved stealthily up the deck towards him. He was smartly dressed and clean as a whistle, not a hair out of place as he approached Liam. Clearly he had spent the night neither in the ocean nor bobbing upon it. A bubble of resentment swelled inside Liam, surprising him somewhat. He ground his teeth and focused his attention on a loan deck chair floating by far below.

The man had a soft step and approached with a gentle kindness that told Liam he was no sailor. He held himself with a quiet confidence, an aura of calmness radiating from him and that gentle, sympathetic smile ... this was a medical man. Liam did not look at him, insides burning with an unjust and inexplicable hostility. Sympathy was the one thing he absolutely could not handle at that moment. His grief and despair mentally contained in a glass vial, teetering unsteadily on the edge. Pushed just a fraction too far and its contents would spill. Irretrievable. Uncontainable.

And so, he kept his gaze firmly on the sparkling water, watching a little chunk of ice as it bobbed innocently past. Refused to acknowledge the man's presence.

'Will you not go into the saloon and get some soup or something to drink?' The doctors voice was smooth, like butter; Irish undertones to his accent sent a warmth of familiarity to Liam's very core and while he ached with loss and sadness, the comfort he drew strengthened him. He turned to face the stranger as the fragile bubble of resentment burst.

'No, I really don't want anything,' he said, surprised to hear just how hoarse his voice had become. He cleared his throat.

'Do go and get something.'

He had a very kind face, Liam couldn't help but notice. Round cheeks with a pointed chin; large, dark eyes framed by long brown lashes and a high forehead, partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and a small dimple appeared on his chin. It was the kind of face you couldn't help but trust.

Liam sighed deeply. He would dearly love to remain up on the deck, postpone the moment when he would be forced to speak of the nights events but his clothes were wet and heavy, his feet squelching in his shoes and the blanket, whilst comforting, was doing nothing to protect him from the bitter Atlantic breeze. He tried to pull it tighter around himself and found his fingers numb and useless.

'Please,' the doctor softly persisted. He raised a hand as though to place it on Liam's arm but seemed to think the better of it and clutched the railing instead. 'Go to the saloon and get something hot.'

Liam looked deeply into the warm eyes, filled with compassion and gentle encouragement, and made up his mind with a sigh.

'Will you show me where?'

* * *

><p>Carla watched as Michelle slowly climbed the ladder up onto their rescuing ship. The girl was moving painfully slowly but, Carla reminded herself, she was cold, she was numb and she was in shock: much like every other person who had spent the night bobbing around the North Atlantic in an exposed lifeboat. After an excruciatingly long time, Michelle reached the top and a pair of rough-looking hands appeared, gripping her upper arms and pulling her on-board and out of sight. The <em>Titanic's <em>Fifth Officer, Harold Lowe, had been standing at the head of the lifeboat, one foot raised onto the side, watching Michelle's progress with his hands held out in front of him as though hoping to catch her should she let go and tumble back. He momentarily closed his eyes as she disappeared over the top, thanking God for another persons safety, then turned back to his remaining passengers.

'You next mi'lady,' he said in a voice which sounded calm but shook tellingly. He was holding out a hand for Carla. Her stomach swooped with a very sudden and unexpected flutter of nerves as she reached forward and slid her own dainty hand into his, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

'I've got you,' he mumbled softly as her stiff legs wobbled and she fell sideways into Helen who could find the energy only to give an irritated tut.

Using Lowe's hand to steady herself, Carla made her way forwards, placed one foot on the bottom rung and wrapped her hands around another, gripping as tight as she could manage, and with an enormous effort pulled herself up. _Perhaps Michelle hadn't done so badly after all_, she thought wryly. The ships deck seemed an impossibly long way away and Carla was suddenly very conscious of the fact she had nothing but her own freezing cold trembling hands, numb fingers and what was left of her own willpower to get her safely to the top.

Lowe withdrew his hands which had been cinching her waist, helping her find her balance. 'Go on then,' he encouraged with the smallest bite of impatience in his voice.

Carla shuffled her hands, finding her grip on the ladder and took a few deep, calming breaths before heaving her body up onto the next rung. The climb was far more difficult than she had imagined and it was much to her chagrin that she realised she was moving as slow, if not slower, than Michelle had done. She gritted her teeth and forced herself up another step. Determination alone would get her to the top.

'Don't look down!' came Officer Lowe's voice from beneath her but of course the second the words left his lips, Carla felt an insuppressible urge to do just that. She drew another breath and continued up and was very nearly at the half-way point when a pair of scruffy, well-worn shoes appeared above her. They were followed by a pair of sturdy legs and the toned torso of a Cunarder sailor. One or two cries of surprise sounded from below and Carla very nearly released the rung in shock when the larger than average feet began to descend at a speed that made her own seem pitiful. She glanced frantically back to the lifeboat wondering if Lowe would catch her if she dropped back but the sailor was already squeezing by her before she had time to make a decision.

He flashed her a toothy grin as he passed. 'Begging your pardon, miss,' he said, touching his hand to his cap. He carried on until he was about three quarters of the way down when he stopped, glanced down and let go, dropping the rest of the way to the waiting lifeboat. Several of the ladies still seated in the boat gasped, one even squealed in fright but Carla was watching Helen who was paying the sailor no attention whatsoever. Her eyes were on an odd shape in the distance, like a mound in the water and as Carla focused on the shape herself she became aware of a faint noise drifting over towards them though she was sure it had been going on a while, unnoticed. It sounded like shrill blasts of a whistle.

The sailor wasted no time in transferring to a second lifeboat, whose passengers had already climbed to safety, and snatched up the oars, heading for the distant shape which Carla realised actually looked like an over-turned boat. She blanched. It had been bad enough, she thought, spending the night in an upright lifeboat, never mind a capsized one. She turned away and tried to refocus her mind. As the situation was, she appeared to have been one of the lucky ones.

Lowe was shouting something below her, the actual words she couldn't make out but the impatient bite to his tone gave her the gist. Teeth gritted and mind focused, she hauled herself up, ignoring the pain in her aching muscles, ignoring the sting of the icy air and the cramp in her protesting fingers. _Next one_, she told herself over and over again. Not looking up, just concentrating on one rung at a time. _Next one _... _next one _... a cup of hot tea would go down fabulously right now. _Next one _... A thick blanket and a well-stoked fire. _Next one _...

Ten strong fingers fastened tightly around her upper arms and she inhaled sharply as her entire body was lifted clean from the rungs and pulled over the top. Her feet hit the deck of the rescuing ship and as her arms were released, her shaking legs finally gave up the battle. With a soft cry of thankfulness, she allowed herself to fall in a heap on the wooden boards, overwhelmed with a sudden rush of gratitude, relief and joy to feel a solid deck under her feet again. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she felt a burning in her throat that had nothing to do with the chill of the air. A sob was building in her chest ... or was it a scream? She didn't know. The man who had deposited her on the deck had walked away but he returned now with a thick woollen blanket in his arms which he draped over her shoulders, pulling it tight across her front. He crouched behind her and rubbed her shoulders and upper arms vigorously in an attempt to warm her.

A crowd had gathered at the rails and was growing steadily larger as the news of the _Titanic's _fate spread amongst the _Carpathia_'s passengers and they poured from their cabins, eager to see the truth for themselves. Some looked to be as much in shock as the other ships survivors at finding themselves in the icy mid-Atlantic when they should be enjoying the balmy breeze of the Gulf Stream, bound for the sunny Mediterranean. Some helped pull passengers onto the deck while others handed out tea and soup and guided their guests to the smoking room, the lounge or the library, all of which had been converted into make-shift dormitories. Others stood in shocked silence and watched the goings on with bewildered eyes. A minor commotion further down the deck turned heads but it appeared to be only a lady in fine evening dress complaining as her hat had been blown from her head and was now drifting in the sea, far below. On the whole though, the passengers arrived in silence; too stunned and horror-stricken to utter a word.

The warmth of the blanket felt wonderful and yet, Carla's body, still bone-chillingly cold, shivered uncontrollably. The steward had left to help the next passenger and she found herself missing his presence. After everything that had happened over the last day or two with Liam and Tony and now this, it had felt nice to relinquish control to another, albeit for a few moments only. She was cold and tired, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept and now she wanted nothing more than to stop thinking. To be led to a warm and comfortable bed where she could lay down and pretend the past twenty-four hours had never happened.

But here she was ... alone again.

She reached up with clumsy fingers to pull the blanket tighter around her and felt small, cold hands find their way into hers. Carla raised her glistening eyes to meet Michelle's. She too was wrapped in a thick blanket, her face shining with tears.

'We made it,' she said, her voice hoarse and gravelly. The ghost of a smile passed over her face as she squeezed her brothers partners hands.

'Yeah ... we did,' Carla agreed slowly, wondering idly if her own lips were as cracked and painful looking as Michelle's. The gratitude she originally felt was ebbing away and an all-encompassing numbness was sweeping through her body but Carla found herself welcoming it. It was almost a relief, not to feel.

'May I take your names please, ladies?' A steward appeared, having sprung from nowhere, and was standing before them, smiling down with clipboard in hand.

Michelle gave her name, peering up at the man dully. 'And this is my sister, Carla Connor,' she added before Carla had a chance to speak. 'Both first class.'

'Thankyou, ladies,' the steward said with a friendly yet sympathetic smile, 'perhaps you should get out of the cold.'

'We will,' Michelle said politely, 'thankyou.'

'Connor?' Carla murmured as Michelle pulled her to her feet. A tiny cleft appeared on her forehead as she gazed at the younger woman, uncertain of what to think.

'Yes,' Michelle said firmly. She was gazing intently at Carla. 'My brother wasn't the sort of man to jump from one woman to the next.' Her voice dropped to a whisper, 'I know he only met you a few days ago but I knew him well enough to know that he was already so in love with you.' She smiled at the other womans uncertainty. 'I feel sure you'd have been his bride.'

Carla dropped her gaze to the wooden boards beneath them, not as highly polished as those on the _Titanic_ had been but serving the same purpose all the same. Her eyes were burning again. 'Connor ...' she murmured slowly, as though testing how the syllables sounded coming from her lips. '... Carla Connor ...' She raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. 'Has a ring to it, I suppose.'

'Yeah,' said Michelle with a reassuring smile. She stepped forward and linked her arm through Carla's, squeezing it tight.

'Perhaps it's best you keep your mother in the dark though.'

Michelle gave a little tinkering laugh as Helen Connor appeared over the gangway and clambered onto the deck. Far from collapsing in a heap, she pulled herself upright and ran her hands over her dress in an attempt to smooth the creases then reached up and patted her hair. 'Perhaps you're right,' she said. 'Some values are just too deeply instilled to change overnight.'

'Or ever at all,' Carla added in a whisper as Helen spotted her daughter and even mustered up a look of contempt to throw Carla's way.

Assistance was offered immediately, such was the air of authority surrounding Helen Connor, and was accepted with a sniff and a stiff nod.

She beckoned Michelle to follow, hesitating a moment before extending a hand for her daughter to take which, looking mightily surprised, Michelle did.

* * *

><p>'Won't you have some soup, sir?' the young steward asked for the third time, trying to push a bowl into Liam's hands.<p>

'I said I'm fine, thankyou.'

Liam turned away and reached for his whisky glass which had been refilled since he had set it down. The young man was only trying to help but he was making a nuisance of himself and Liam wished he would leave.

He was dressed in a fresh, clean shirt and trousers which were not at all up to the standard of his usual attire and were slightly on the large side but, of course, he would never have dreamt of complaining in the circumstances. He was dry for the first time in more hours than he liked to count and starting to thaw out thanks to the roaring fire, burning in the grate and that was as much as he could ask for at that moment.

The young steward finally seemed to take the hint and wandered off reluctantly, still clutching the bowl of steaming onion soup. Liam breathed a sigh of relief; company was one thing he couldn't cope with right then. He downed the whisky in one, wincing at the harsh taste and banged the glass down on the table a little harder than was necessary. He was prolonging the moment, he knew that. His mother and sister, and his beautiful Carla were nearby, almost certainly believing him dead and he was sat there ... alone ... downing the contents of a whisky bottle.

It wasn't fair; he had to go and find them. But when he did he'd have to talk about ...

It was strange, he realised, that after a night of wanting nothing more than to hold Carla Donovan in his arms, kiss her until his lips bled and never, ever let her go, he found that now she was within touching distance he'd rather sit here with nothing but a bottle for company.

The room in which he sat was on the same sort of scale as the smoking room on the _Titanic_ though not quite so grand. The ceiling was not as high, the fireplace not so ornate and there were paintings on the walls rather than carvings. Still, he imagined it would be comfortable enough when it was filled with cushioned armchairs and wooden tables. All the furniture had been hastily pushed aside and many make-shift beds arranged on the floor. Spare mattresses, pillows and duvets appeared to have been pulled from everywhere available and set out side by side to accommodate the ships new passengers, all male in this particular room, although whoever had arranged the accommodation appeared to have seriously over-estimated the number of survivors. Liam could tell just from looking that there were far too many beds by half.

His glass had been miraculously filled again. He picked it up and held it out, glaring the amber liquid as though it had done him a great personal injury. He swirled it around in the glass and brought it to his lips, knocking it back in one. He grimaced at the bitterness and slammed the glass back down, pushing himself to his feet and making for the door, thinking he could have been doing with some of that whisky last night: It was warming his insides far better than any fire, or better than a bowl of onion soup, even if he could have stomached it.

'Excuse me,' he called, grabbing the attention of a passing steward who's arms were laden with thick duvets and feather pillows. 'Could you please direct me to the other survivors?'

* * *

><p>The warmth of the roaring fire washed over Carla as surely as if she'd sunk into a hot bath and the relief was instantaneous. Their guide, a middle-aged male, pushed Michelle a little closer, pulled the blanket further up Carla's shoulders and then bustled away to fetch hot drinks and bowls of soup. Tears were pouring silently down Michelle's cheeks as she pulled her knees closer to her chest and bowed her head though it was Helen, Carla was watching. She sat, still as a statue, gazing into the flames. There were no tears, no suppressed sobs though her face was as pale as Carla had seen it and her eyes ... her eyes held a chillingly hollow, deadened look. Carla found herself turning away, as though watching the other woman was somehow indecent, like she was intruding on a private grief. Helen hadn't seemed to notice Carla since that first contemptuous glance. She had moved as though in a trance and settled herself by the fire with dignity, reaching out and squeezing Michelle's pale hand though keeping her gaze on the dancing flames as though fearful that allowing her eyes to rest on her remaining child would remind her of the two she had lost. Carla felt desperately sorry for her and huddled closer to Michelle, wrapping an arm around the young woman's shoulders. Michelle leant into the embrace and silently rested her head on Carla's shoulder. She began to sob quietly, grasping a fistful of Carla's woollen blanket and squeezing the material as though hoping to transfer to it some of her pain and as suddenly as if a floodgate had opened, Carla's own tears came, rolling silently down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. She rested her cheek on the other girls hair and closed her eyes, wishing harder than she'd ever wished for anything, that she could turn the clock back twenty-four hours.<p>

* * *

><p>'Just through here, m'lad,' the steward said as he opened a rather plain wooden door and stood back to let Liam pass. 'Anything else I can help you with?'<p>

'No thankyou,' Liam said. He stood in the doorway and peered into the room, taking in rows upon rows of books all tidied onto huge oak shelves that were so high they almost touched the ceiling. Just like the smoking room, the _Carpathia'_s library was not even in the same league as the _Titanic_'s had been although admittedly, it was not a room in which Liam had spent a great deal of time. He remembered poking his head around the door on that first day and having a quick look around, then withdrawing it and moving on but the impression had stayed with him. Even his fathers library at home had not been as expansive as that one. Hundreds upon hundreds of books.

All at the bottom of the ocean now, he thought ... along with Paul.

The image came from nowhere, hitting him like a tonne of bricks, rendering him breathless with a horrible feeling of panic rising inside him: _the lifeless body of his older brother, draped over the hull of the upturned boat. Sleeping merely ... peaceful looking ... had it not been for the frostbitten blue of his cracked lips._

'Are you feeling okay, son?' The steward sounded impossibly far away, as though Liam was listening to a voice on a badly tuned radio. He was aware of his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to force the image from his head, his breaths coming in laboured gasps, all the wind knocked clean out of him. _The body was moving, sliding into the abyss of the blackened ocean and the waves welcomed it, claimed it absolutely and irrevocably as its own ... and there was hands manipulating it ... Liam's hands _... Those same hands now gripped the wooden door frame, holding their owners body upright as his knees threatened to buckle. A small trickle of cold sweat materialised between his shoulder blades and forged a rather uncomfortable path down his back. He breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling a great breath of revitalising oxygen, expanding his lungs to their full capacity.

His head started to clear, his anxiety receding

'Should I call someone, lad?' the steward asked, sounding this time much more like he should. He reached over and laid a hand on Liam's shoulder, peering at him with sympathy and concern.

'No,' Liam managed. His voice sounded hoarse and throaty. He cleared his throat. 'No, I'm fine.'

With a massive effort, he pushed the image as far from his mind as he could and stood upright, praying his legs were not going to give way beneath him. He straightened his new overly large shirt and looked the steward in the eye, almost daring him to contradict.

'Perhaps some tea?' the steward asked, sounding a little wary. He was eyeing Liam in an odd way that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable and, if truth be told, a little embarrassed.

Liam forced his face into a polite smile. 'No thankyou,' he said again, relieved to hear his voice had returned to normal. He nodded his thanks and turned his back on the steward, facing into the room and the young man, recognising a dismissal, bore a retreat.

Liam let out a breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He could not allow whatever had just happened there to reoccur. He had to be strong: strong for Carla and Michelle, strong for his poor mother. He was not, by any means, the only person who had lost a loved one that night nor the only one plagued with disturbing images and horrifying memories.

The library looked to hold not two hundred people and although they were no longer sorted by class, this lot were clearly mainly from steerage; a pittance considering the seven or eight hundred third class passengers who had boarded the Titanic in Southampton. Liam stepped over the threshold, pleased to find his legs appeared to be working fine, and closed the door gently behind him, remembering with a grim smile the way he had felt so out of place the first time he'd invaded steerage territory: the first time he'd met Carla face to face. She had walked right up to him and enquired as to what he was doing so far from his own parts then proceeded to tell him he should dress more appropriately next time he descended from on high. He remembered the way he had been so entranced by her sharp, oval eyes and how he had fallen breathless at their startling colour which had shone with the reflection of the sun on the water. He had admired her audacity back then, marvelled at how she had lifted his mood with one simple conversation and although he already knew, he became suddenly aware of how empty and incomplete he felt without her by his side. He had known her for mere days but wasn't it a well known fact that people, even strangers, who shared in any kind of traumatic event often emerged the other end as close as if they'd known each other years?

He longed to hold her slender body close to his, kiss her plump, soft lips, feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his and remind himself ... she was alive.

His hands shook as he entered the room and he frowned down at them, stowing them safely in his trouser pockets. _Strong_, he reminded himself as he set off around the perimeter. He wandered from person to person, searching faces, peering cautiously under duvets and occasionally enquiring after 'Miss Donovan' but continually drawing a blank.

It didn't take him long to discern her absence from this particular room but far from feeling concern, his relief was almost palpable: his family had not abandoned her. To find her back amongst third class would have been momentary relief but ultimately a blow.

With no idea as to where the first and second class quarters would be, Liam found himself back on the deck, intending to find another steward, preferably not the same one after his little episode, and ask for more directions.

The deck was a hive of activity. It appeared the man in charge of the Carpathia, Captain Rostron, had given the order to pull as many of the Titanic's empty lifeboats aboard as was possible. Five of them sat on the forward deck, several more were being fixed into the Carpathia's davits and just like that, Liam was back on the deck of the Titanic and they were fixing the very same boats into her own davits, preparing to abandon ship ...

He turned quickly away, intending to go back to the smoking room and seek help there. The scene on the deck was just too horrendously familiar. He turned his back, aware that his heartrate had quickened and his breaths were coming in shallow bursts. Another anxiety attack seemed imminent as icy cold tendrils slithered around and squeezed at his heart. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of painful images, wondering idly if Bruce Ismay had survived and cursing the man for not providing enough boats in the first place.

Nobody looked up as Liam entered the room. The mood was very subdued and whisky fumes were abundant in the air. The steward he had asked for directions earlier was there, carrying a bottle of brandy in one hand and a pot of tea or coffee in the other. Liam instinctively delved his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling, fearing another bout of gut-wrenching sympathy. He watched the man cross the room, wondering if he should not just go back to the deck and find help there.

The steward approached an elderly gentleman who sat in the corner, his back to the room. He too was wearing clean dry clothes that looked a little on the large side. A thick blanket had fallen from his shoulders and lay discarded on the table behind him. As Liam watched, the man drained the contents of his glass and silently held it out for a refill.

It was in slow motion almost, or it seemed that way to Liam, that the steward offered the man tea instead and was angrily rebuked. Liam's shoulders sagged as he watched the ageing man thrust the whisky glass under the stewards nose.

It couldn't be ...

His mouth was suddenly very dry and hung slightly agape as he studied the man in astounded disbelief. His hands were trembling worse than ever as he reached up and ran them through his hair, staring open-mouthed across the room. It couldn't be, it just couldn't ... and yet ... that white hair was so familiar ...

Looking back, even days later, Liam found he had no memory of crossing that room. Without knowing how he got there, he found himself standing behind the man with the white hair.

It wasn't possible for a heart to beat as hard and fast as Liam's was at that moment and yet it carried on, bringing him to within touching distance of the man he thought he'd never see again.

'Father?' he croaked in disbelief.

The man sitting on the table stiffened, his back straightened. Then his head whipped around so fast Liam wondered how he didn't crick his neck.

Blue eyes met blue eyes and a shock of recognition passed over both. With a deep, guttural cry, Liam sprang forwards and gripped his father in a hug. Strong arms enveloped him, holding him so close it became rather difficult to breathe.

'My boy!' Barry murmured, his disbelieving voice overflowing with ungoverned emotion. 'My boy.' And, if possible, he pulled his son even closer to him.

Liam had no memory of ever being hugged like this, even as a child. Both parents were generally too austere to show such affection and in that moment, Liam revelled in it. He shuddered as his father's deep, familiar tones reverberated down his spine and they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, for some time.

Eventually though, Barry relaxed his hold enough to take a step back, running his hands up Liam's arms to grip his shoulders. He examined every inch of his sons face, drinking it in as though it had been decades since he last saw it, as though he could never have enough. He reached up and cupped Liam's face, ran a hand through his dark hair, grasped the back of his neck and pulled his sons head to his chest.

'But where's Paul?' he asked hoarsely.

Liam was the one to pull away this time. A smile was playing across his fathers face as he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and looked around expectantly as though waiting for his eldest child to step forward.

Liam found he could not speak and eventually, Barry's eyes travelled back to his. The smile had gone. Suddenly all the humour seemed to have gone from the world. Understanding passed between father and son and Barry recoiled slightly though his eyes, shining with fresh tears, remained fixed on Liams. 'No,' he whispered, shaking his head slowly and deliberately from side to side. 'No,' he said again, dragging the syllable out, his eyes begging Liam to contradict him.

'He didn't make it,' Liam whispered.

Barry stared for a moment, then swayed alarmingly. Liam reached out and grabbed hold of his upper arm, guiding him gently back to his seat by the table. A sharp pain rose in his throat and his eyes burned as he watched his fathers face turn from red to white to green and finally to a kind of milky grey. Barry reached a trembling hand out for his untouched brandy and downed the liquid in one. He didn't shudder at the bitterness.

'How?' he managed though his voice was gravelly and hoarse as though he was not used to using it.

'We stayed together,' Liam told him. 'Right to the end. He fell asleep and never woke up.' He tried to swallow back the lump rising in his throat, tried to order his tears back to their source. 'It was my fault,' he continued, voicing the nagging feeling which had playing at the back of his mind since the moment his brother had slid beneath the waves. 'I should have kept him awake.'

Barry's grief seemed to be beyond words. A glazed look had come over his eyes. He shook his head meaningfully at his son and tried to speak but his throat seemed to constrict. He took a deep breath instead.

Tears came to Liam's eyes before he could stop them and what was the point in wiping them off, or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together. He didn't notice his father set his empty glass down nor push himself to his feet. Strong arms once again, wound their way around his battered body and he fell into the embrace, feeling his fathers tears fall thick and fast onto the top of his head as together, they mourned the lost of a fine young man ... and only one of many.

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><p>Carla had found herself being cajoled into polishing off an entire bowl of thick vegetable soup which she had originally refused but had felt grateful for after it was gone. The soup lay in her stomach like a comforting weight and made her feel warm and sleepy. A second cup of scalding tea was being forced into her hands and she took it willingly, enjoying the warmth the china cup leant to her thawed out fingers, like a hug from an old friend. Beside her, Michelle was scraping the last of the soup from her own bowl while next to her, Helen's lay untouched. The kind steward had done his best to encourage her to eat but was forced to back off after she had snapped in his face, using choice words that made Michelle gasp. She had then gone back to staring into the fire. Michelle's bowl was whisked away the moment her spoon clattered to the bottom and replaced almost immediately with a cup of steaming tea. She shivered as she took it, wrapping her fingers around it's warmth like Carla was doing. Both girls sipped at the hot liquid for a while in silence.<p>

'Do you think -' Michelle cut herself off as she stole a quick, nervous glance at her mothers haunted face. She turned very deliberately to Carla and lowered her voice to a whisper. 'Do you think there's any chance they might have survived?' she asked, voicing the thought that had been plaguing Carla since she had watched the stern of the _Titanic_ slide beneath the waves and disappear forever.

'I don't know,' Carla whispered back though she couldn't see how they could have. Hadn't Officer Lowe transferred them into another boat so he could go back and search for survivors? Hadn't he only pulled three men from the water alive?

Michelle, however, appeared to be satisfied with the vague answer. It wasn't a definitive no and until it was, there was hope. Many other women in the room seemed to be thinking along the same lines; glancing up hopefully everytime the door opened, bowing their heads in silent prayer. One woman was clutching a little silver cross on the end of a chain, squeezing her eyes closed. Her lips moved so quickly they were nothing more than a blur. The cross reminded Carla of the necklace she had found in Liam's jacket pocket the previous night and she reached for it, pulling open the paper bag and retrieving from it the loveheart charm on the silver chain. She pressed it to her lips and curled her fist around it, sighing deeply as a sudden weariness washed over her. She reached over and squeezed Michelle's shoulder gently then rose unsteadily to her feet and crossed over to one of the nearby make-shift beds where she curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes. Sleep was almost instantaneous but she remained conscious just long enough to feel Michelle's small body join her under the duvet. She smiled sleepily, thinking that no matter what happened now she had become part of a family, and that was worth living for.

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><p><strong>Thankyou for reading :)<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello everyone. Once again I find myself apologising for the long wait between updates. I have no excuse other than it took me a long time to get part of this chapter right. I'm still not sure it's quite there but to be honest I'm sick of reading it so here it is. **

**This is the final chapter of this story and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every person who reviewed, you have no idea how much it means to me to know people actually like to read my work so a huge thank you to you :)**

**Lastly, I have an idea rattling around my head for a sequel to this story. Probably set during the first World War. I haven't thought out any details yet but please let me know what you think.**

**:)**

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><p>Liam and Barry stood hesitantly in the doorway to a large circular room which used to be the <em>Carpathia's<em> lounge but now resembled more of a dormitory than anything. The young steward back in the smoking room had insisted on staying at his post but had quite willingly directed them towards the first class quarters with a smile that was far too cheerful for Liam's liking. Now, as he stared around the crowded room, it struck Liam that the contrast between the number of survivors here in the lounge and the number of third class back in the library was stark to the point of sickening but he put it to the back of his mind; he could dwell on equality later. Right now, he was itching to find Carla and Michelle.

Barry was reeling still from the news of Paul. His body trembled, physically reacting to shock and grief and his mind seemed to have entered into a trance like state, as though it had been placed under hypnosis. He moved with a quiet precision as was the norm but his stony expression and his tightly clenched fists belied his air of calmness and neutrality. He was bottling his grief up, tucking it away and presenting to the world a mask of normality.

He moved further into the room, careful to avoid stepping on fingers and toes and Liam followed, staring helplessly around at the solid mass of people and wondering how on earth they were going to find the girls in this. He scrutinized each face carefully he passed, searching for the one with the beautiful eyes.

They kept to the left side of the perimeter making their way carefully through the maze of bodies. Once or twice Liam's heart leapt as he spotted a woman who looked like Carla or a girl who might have been Michelle but the alarms were false and his anxiety grew. What if they hadn't made it? Perhaps their boat had capsized and they had all drowned. Maybe the exposure was too much for them. What if they had drifted so far the _Carpathia_ hadn't even picked them up?

But then he saw her. Straight-backed and austere as usual. His mother sat gazing into the open fire looking calm and collected if it wasn't for the tear tracks staining her troubled face. She clutched a steaming mug of tea, cradling it to her chest as though it were a newborn child and as Liam watched, her whole body convulsed with a suppressed sob.

He reached out and caught his fathers arm, nodding in Helen's direction and watched as Barry hurried forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

Helen looked up. Blinked, gave her head a little shake. Her pale eyes widened as they travelled from Barry to Liam and back again. Her jaw dropped and a strangled cry escaped her parted lips. Barry descended upon her before she'd had a chance to do anything and lifted her off her feet, kissing every inch of her face he could reach and she in turn pressed her lips against his, all graces forgotten.

Liam stepped forward with an awkward grin and kissed his mother on the cheek, allowed her to run her hands over his hair and hold him close to her as she sobbed openly. Then he gently disengaged himself and turned, anxiously searching for the face he most wanted to see. His eyes fell on two small figures curled under a thin duvet not six feet from where he stood. His heart began to race, his palms to sweat. He could feel blood running to his face, a painful tightening in his chest.

It was her.

He moved forwards and crouched down, knees cracking in protest. She was fast asleep, they both were. He reached out with trembling fingers and gently smoothed her hair back from her face, frowning at the large poppy bruise, courtesy of Tony Gordon, which shone on the side of her head like a battle wound. She didn't stir. Over his shoulder, he could hear his mother crying but he did not turn around. Let her grieve with her husband, he was not yet ready to face their bereavement.

He lifted the duvet, just enough so he could slip in beside her, and kicked off his shoes. She stirred at the intrusion, a little groan of protest escaping her lips as a rush of cold air washed over her but the chill vanished as quickly as it had come and suddenly there was a familiar warmth enveloping her, heating her far more effectively than the limp duvet. It felt almost as if ...

_Impossible_, her sleep-deprived mind admonished her. Liam was gone and there was no coming back from that.

_But those arms feel so real _...

Liam leaned over and kissed the soft skin of her forehead. For a moment there he had thought she was going to wake; her body had certainly tensed and the smallest of clefts had appeared on her brow but after a few seconds she had relaxed and seemed to drift off again. He shuffled a little closer to Carla's warm body and wrapped a gentle arm around her waist, careful not to wake her. He marvelled silently and not for the first time, at how well she fitted into his side. Like two parts of a jigsaw falling perfectly into place. She leant instinctively closer, her head coming to rest upon his shoulder and subconsciously lifted a hand, allowing it to rest on his chest. The tense knot in his stomach lessened slightly with her warm weight against him and he pressed three consecutive kisses to her hair, pulling her closer, silently thanking God for returning her to him.

A comforting fog began to envelope his mind and his body began to feel heavy; as though it was being dragged further down into the rough mattress which was suddenly the softest and most comfortable thing imaginable. His eyelids drooped as though the weight of the world was dragging them down and he gladly succumbed to it, angling his head so his chin rested on the top of Carla's head. He fell asleep listening to the rhythmic timbre of her breathing.

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><p>Carla awoke so warm, so very comfortable, that she didn't immediately open her eyes, hoping she may just drop off again. She had no idea how long she'd slept for though the murmur of low voices around her told her it was still daytime. She had a feeling it hadn't been very long. Her mouth was dry and her eyes were sore. She swallowed and winced: the back of her throat felt like the skin had been scraped away. Behind her eyelids she was aware of murky grey light in the room. Definitely still morning then. Her eyes opened before she had a chance to ask herself whether it was a good idea.<p>

She blinked, gave them a rub and looked again.

_Impossible_ ... Her mind was clearly still asleep. Perhaps a night of bobbing around the North Atlantic had sent her doolally, made her hallucinate, because there could be no other explanation for what she was seeing.

His face was pale ... paler than usual, and it looked to have changed somewhat since the last time she had seen it; as though he had aged overnight. The features were firm and ruthlessly realistic. His eyes were deeply under shadowed and his hair ruffled in a way his mother certainly would not approve of but through Carla's dry, scratchy red eyes, he was a cruel vision of perfection.

The smallest of sobs escaped her while at the same time she felt a wild desire to laugh. She reached out and gently pressed the tips of her fingers to his cheek. His skin was warm and soft ... so soft ... and such a beautiful shade of pink. Like pale roses in full bloom.

Could this really be a hallucination, she wondered, if she could physically touch him? Might he not be real?

While she hesitantly entertained the notion that she was infact entirely sane, her fingertips forged a path up to his forehead and down to his lips, tracing their outline in awe. This mans beauty was a sight to behold. Entirely other-worldly.

Nerve endings around Carla's eyes and nose were starting to sting as her senses went into overdrive and her sleep-deprived brain began to catch up. This vision was real enough to touch. Those breaths causing the rise and fall of his chest were very real breaths. The beat she could see pulsing in the side of his neck was not in her head, it was evidence of a very corporeal heart beating fast and strong within his very solid ribcage.

Miracle this man may be ... imaginary he was not.

Tears welled as her heart, pulsing wildly, lightened at the revelation. The pain and the worry of the previous night just melting away as though it had never even existed. An entirely overwhelming sense of relief flowed from her heart through every limb, leaving her breathless and her entire body tingling and she closed her eyes momentarily, feeling comforted and consoled: unspeakably consoled.

As she watched, he took a long, deep breath and released it slowly. For a second he seemed to stop breathing. Then his chest rose and fell. His eyelashes flickered and settled again and as she blinked away her unshed tears, Carla allowed the first genuine smile, in what felt like forever, to tug at her lips.

And then she was upon him. Kissing his cheek, his neck, his forehead ... wherever her lips landed, and her hands wound their way through his hair, tugging and pulling as though they could not feel enough. Could never feel enough.

Liam mumbled incoherently as he was brought unceremoniously back to consciousness and a sharp gasp escaped Carla's lips as his eyes flickered open and instantly met with hers. How could eyes be that blue? So blue they were almost violet, like the summer sky at twilight. They radiated a penetrating kind of warmth, a marked contrast from the hard lines etched in his face.

'Thank God,' she whispered, kissing his cheek again. Pressing her lips to his in an impulsive, longing kiss filled with thankfulness, squeezing him as though still uncertain that he was real.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held tight, drawing her closer to him while she half laughed, half cried. He was aware of the presence of a tight knot in his stomach but for a few precious seconds, could not imagine why it was there.

And then, with the force of a steam engine, the memories hit him.

His eyes flickered upwards and fixed on a spot near the ceiling and he inhaled deeply, fighting to control his breathing as the full weight of grief crashed over him. The pinkness melted from his cheeks, leaving them without a vestige of colour though Carla, with her face buried in his neck, saw nothing of it. His body began to tremble. From the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, he shook as if with ague and latched onto Carla's warm body, holding her tight as though drawing life from her.

She could feel him shaking. Could feel the warmth of his perspiration, the stickiness of his tears mingling with her own. She felt as though their two bodies had merged into one clinging, shaking heap and she knew that she would not be the first to let go. It was a long time before his voice broke the silence.

'He's gone,' he whispered into Carla's hair, so quiet she was unsure whether or not he had actually spoken. She pulled back slightly.

'Who's gone, Liam?' she asked, her voice like a soothing balm

He was silent a moment. Then: 'Paul. Dead.' The last word caught in his throat and a strangled sob escaped him. He too pulled back slightly so he could see Carla's face. It was white and the silence and the stillness, horror rose inside her like bile.

'Dead?' she echoed. A sharp pain was rising in her throat.

It had of course been a possibility. A very high one at that but to hear the actual words from his brothers lips and to witness his grief was like a sharp slap to the face.

_Paul_, she mused. Paul whom she had known only days, who had disliked her for her less than grand status. Paul who had tried his best to keep her and his young brother apart.

Paul who had saved her life.

She could do nothing but stare into those grief-stricken blue eyes while a part of her thanked God it was Paul who had been taken and not Liam. Then she felt sickened with herself.

There came an odd noise from behind - a strangled kind of cry, like that of a kitten. Carla tore her teary eyes from Liam's pale, despairing face and turned in time to see a whirl of ivory gown and black hair as Michelle launched herself into her brothers arms and Liam, who had been laying on his side, only just managed to free himself from the tangle of limbs that was him and his young lover and push himself upright to catch his little sister in his arms.

'Liam!' Michelle cried breathlessly, as though all the wind had been knocked from her. 'How did ... why ... we thought ...' she seemed unable to articulate a single sentence but Liam had no words for her anyway. He held her in silence, enveloping her small frame in his muscular arms as she also half cried, half laughed. Carla edged away, torn between the desire to give brother and sister some privacy but also to not stray too far from Liam's side. She glanced around at Helen and felt her jaw drop just as Michelle gave another high-pitched squeal. 'Daddy!' she shrieked.

Barry Connor was sitting by the fire, one hand clutching an empty mug, the other squeezing his wifes shoulder. Carla watchedas Michelle threw herself into her fathers arms, smiling as she watched him recieve his daughter with several kisses to her cheeks, several more to the top of her head and a hug so tight she was lifted off her feet. The sound of Michelle's giggling echoed across the room. A welcome sound amidst the heavy blanket of grief.

'But where's Paul?' she asked innocently, gazing from her father to her brother and back again. Youthful innocence shone from her eyes as she watched them exchange a glance over her head. Her eyes flickered to her mother, sitting by the fire, weeping silently into a white laced-edge handkerchief, and back to her brother.

Her smile faltered.

Carla turned away and pulled the blanket up over her legs feeling that, once again, she was intruding on a private grief. Barry's low, baritone voice seemed to carry over the crackling of the fire and rumble of other voices in the room and suddenly, Carla wished she was anywhere but there. She pulled the blanket up higher and slid back underneath, shivering with a chilling cold that seemed to spring from nowhere, and was joined moments later by Liam who slid in beside her and wrapped his body around hers like a second blanket.

'You should be with your family,' Carla murmured into his chest.

'There's nothing I can do to help,' he whispered back.

The sound of muffled sobbing reached their ears and Liam pulled Carla closer, resting his chin on top of her head. He was still shaking.

'It was my fault,' he murmured for the second time that night.

Carla angled her head so she was looking up at him. She was frowning.

'I was so busy trying to keep myself awake, I forgot about him,' he answered her unspoken question. Tears sprang, unbidden to those magnificent blue eyes.

'That's not your fault, Liam,' Carla whispered. She reached up and ran her fingers through his unruly hair. He closed his eyes, shutting out the horrors of the world and took a deep breath. When he opened them again the tears had gone.

'He looked so peaceful, you know,' he said, 'right at the end.'

Carla did not know what to say and so she said nothing, instead closing her fingers around his. She scooted closer to him and rested her head on his chest. Her thumb drew soothing patterns on the back of his hand and before long, his breaths deepened, his body relaxed and as she listened to the rhythm of his breathing and felt the steady thump of his heart through his chest, she felt her own lids grow heavy. She whispered a quiet thank you to God for bringing him back to her and fell asleep in the crook of his arm.

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><p>Someone was standing over her. She could sense a presence, even with her eyes shut. Carla's skin prickled furiously as she frantically roused herself from sleep, forcing her mind back from the brink of consciousness. What if it was Tony Gordon? What if he had survived and was coming for her again?<p>

Her heart began to race, her palms breaking out in a sweat. She sensed the figure standing over her shift as though it was reaching for her and in a moment of utter panic, she wrenched her eyes open and sat bolt upright, staring around wildly for her would-be attacker but there was no dark-haired figure, no cold black eyes nor evil grin, not even a Scottish accent to be heard.

But there was a man watching her.

For a moment she felt disorientated and anxious but her mysterious figure was dressed in Cunarder finery and she began relax as her heart rate slowed. The gentleman smiled at her in a friendly sort of way and turned back to Barry Connor whom he had clearly been engaging in conversation before his attention was caught. Carla fell back onto her elbows, watching as the young man exchanged a last word with Barry and went on his way with a curt nod of the head.

Barry watched him go with an unreadable expression on his kind face and as the door closed behind the Curnarder man, his gaze dropped to Carla who blushed at having been caught staring. He offered her a weak smile which she returned, equally as feebly. His eyes then seemed to lose their focus, as though his brain was disengaging. He frowned slightly and leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, lowering his head to his hands so his face was no longer visible.

Carla turned away as Liam stirred beside her.

'What's going on?' he asked groggily as he blearily opened his eyes and squinted around the room, looking surprised to see Carla awake and half upright. He placed his hand on the back of her neck as he pushed himself up.

'I'm not sure,' she murmured distractedly. Liam lightly ran his fingers down her spine and automatically it seemed, her skin erupted in goosebumps beneath his touch sending delicious shivers to all parts of her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly, feeling the skin unexpectedly rough with a days worth of stubble. Pulling back, Carla bit down on her plump lower lip and surveyed him, trying to keep her smile at bay, all anxieties over Tony Gordon forgotten in the moment. She pressed her lips to a spot on his jawline. 'I like this stubble,' she murmured against his skin. She sensed his answering grin rather than saw it.

'I ain't growing a beard, darling,' he breathed as he buried his face in the side of her neck and inhaled deeply, tickling the sensitive spot underneath her ear with the tip of his nose.

She gasped as she found herself inexplicably, and entirely inappropriately in her view, suffused with a desire that melted her from the inside like a white-hot poker. She marvelled at the intensity of the ache and how this man alone could make her feel like this when plenty of others had tried and failed and maybe it was just the light in the room, but suddenly his eyes didn't look so blue anymore. They had darkened with a primal thirst that she alone could satisfy.

Awareness of him prickled across her skin. He was a potent force in their small enclosure, radiating a palpable energy that had her shifting restlessly. Her breathing became as ragged as her heartbeat and to her wonder, his seemed to follow suit. She felt an inexplicable pull towards him, like a silent demand that she was instinctively attuned to answering.

For a second they didn't move. Then Carla reached up to him. It was just a hug, he knew that, a moment of comfort, but it was impossible to be this close to her and not bend his head to the skin at the side of her neck and kiss it with a delicacy he hadn't known he was capable of, to press his face against her hair and breathe in deeply. Then she shifted in his arms, pulled back her head, and it was completely out of the question that he not kiss her.

He took her top lip between both of his and pulled gently then did the same with the bottom one. Traced his tongue lightly around the outline of her mouth and breathed gently across it.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers as they both fought to regain control of their breathing, and the only thing he could think of was that the world couldn't be too bad after all because Carla was in it.

'I wish we were alone,' he breathed. Her answering moan procured a smile which despite their surroundings, he found difficult to stop from growing to a grin. What was wrong with him? He wondered idly. He had just lost his brother. He should be grieving, not fantasising about his young lover. Was this denial? he wondered.

'That would be most inappropriate, Mr Connor,' she said quietly in an uncanny resemblance to Helen's upper-class accent.

'Yes, it would,' he growled, capturing her lips once more, and as if on cue:

'Liam!'

Carla stifled a giggle as Liam groaned and reluctantly pulled himself away. He turned to see his mothers pale, tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes and immediately felt the weight of guilt pressing down on him. Any fantasies he'd been enjoying about Carla vanished and he felt sickened, ashamed of himself. The way he had felt when he'd been caught misbehaving as a child. Helen didn't seem angry though.

'That young man from Curnarder was an officer of the ship,' she said tonelessly. Her eyes looked slightly unfocused. 'He said ... he said there is to be a ... a memo-,' her voice caught in her throat and her face crumpled as a fresh wave of tears overpowered her. Barry reached over and took her small hand in one of his. When he spoke his voice shook. 'There is to be a memorial service held shortly ... for all those poor souls lost,' he said quietly.

Helen began to sob openly and Michelle extricated herself from under her fathers arm and moved to her mothers side, curled up next to her and rested her head on her shoulder. Helen kissed Michelle's hair and wrapped her arms around her daughter in an uncharacteristic display of affection. Tears were pouring silently down Michelle's pale face.

Carla seemed to shrink a little as she watched in silence. Liam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. His insides suddenly felt like ice. A memorial service so soon was just about more than he could handle.

'I shouldn't go,' Carla said in a small voice, obviously hoping to not be overheard but the rest of the Connor's were too busy comforting one another to take any notice.

Liam frowned at her, pulling back ever so slightly so he could see all of her face. 'Why on earth wouldn't you go?' he asked in a hurt voice.

'Because ...' Carla glanced around uneasily. 'They won't want me there,' she whispered nodding towards the Connor's, 'and I hadn't known him long and -' she stopped talking abruptly as Liam pressed a gentle finger to her lips. There was a small smile tugging at his own but she could tell it was forced for her benefit. He reached around to the back of her head and began to twist her hair around his fingers.

'He cared about you,' Liam said simply.

'He didn't approve of me,' argued Carla.

'He did in the end. He wouldn't have helped save you from the demented Scot otherwise.'

There was too much truth in this for Carla to ignore and she gave in, leaning her forehead against his as her eyes started to sting.

'I'll miss him,' she whispered.

Great, fat tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Liam brushed them away with his thumb and pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the side of her neck as he too succumbed to tears.

* * *

><p>All too soon they were being called upon to make their way to the main lounge. Reverend Father Anderson, an episcopal clergyman, had been sent for and passengers from both ships, <em>Titanic<em> and _Carpathia_, assembled in neat rows to give thanks for the living and to pay their respects to the lost.

Liam held out an arm and caught Carla around the waist as the rest of the Connor clan filed into the room and took their seats at the back. She looked questioningly at him then turned her head back to the Connors. Helen, whos tight curls had started to wend their way loose, was standing by her seat watching them but not with her usual malevolence. She looked disinterested, as though she just didn't care anymore.

Liam increased the pressure on Carla's waist, steering her towards the railing, away from the lounge. She stayed silent as he let her go and leaned his forearms on the iron bars running horizontally the full length of the deck. He sighed heavily as he gazed out to the sea which twinkled merrily in the light of the mid-morning sun though Carla got the impression he wasn't really seeing any of it.

'He used to hate boats when he was little,' Liam said quietly. 'We were always crossing the Atlantic, visiting relatives in America ... he couldn't understand how they stayed afloat.'

Carla moved closer so she was standing next to him. He didn't look at her.

Liam laughed suddenly, his whole face lighting up. 'I remember once he had a massive tantrum, at the dock in Southampton. Yelled and screamed for the world to hear that he wasn't setting foot on that ship and that he was going home to live with the servants. He couldn't have been any older than ten at the time. Mum was mortified.' He gave another laugh. 'But he got over his fear as he got older.' His weak smile flickered and died. 'When we were told we were going to be sailing on the Titanic he was thrilled ... convinced of its safety, he was,' Liam said. His tone darkened. 'It was unsinkable after all.'

Carla, at a loss for what to say, laid a gentle hand on his forearm, and turned her head towards the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The sea was littered with cruel reminders of the nights events, small traces of the great ship - patches of red and yellow cork ... some old wooden deckchairs ... several white pilasters ... cushions ... rugs ... lifebelts ...

'Let's go and say goodbye to him,' she whispered after a moment, eyes following a fine purple hat with a great big fabric flower on the side as it floated innocuously by. 'Come on,' she coaxed gently, pulling at his arm.

He turned suddenly and clutched at hers, a wild look in his startling eyes. 'Please don't leave me,' he whispered with an underlying urgency to his tone. 'Ever.' His eyes burned into hers with an intensity she had never seen in them before.

She looked a little uncertain and opened her mouth to speak but Liam cut her off.

'Stay with me when we dock,' he pressed, stepping closer to her. He clasped one of her hands in both of his. 'Come back to England with me.' He leant down and caught her top lip between both of his and when she responded he kissed her fully, snaking a hand around the nape of her neck, toying with her hair. 'Marry me,' he whispered as he pulled away.

For a full ten seconds they stared at one another, his eyes intense, longing. Hers questioning, unsure.

'I mean it,' he said into the prolonged silence. 'If there's one thing I've learnt over the past twenty-four hours, it's how precious life is and how quickly it can be snatched away.' He leant his forehead against hers, felt her shallow breaths on his face. 'I feel like I've known you a lifetime.' He reached for her free hand, brought it to his lips. 'I don't ever want to lose you,' he told her in a whisper. 'Marry me?'

She considered him a moment, gazing with uncertainty into his clear blue eyes while her heart thumped wildly. She had known this man barely a week and yet ... she too felt as though a lifetime had passed. She loved him now more than she would have ever believed possible. He had saved her life, no ... more than that ... he had _given_ her life. She had never felt so alive since meeting him. He made her feel like she had never felt before, in more ways than one, and she never wanted the feeling to end ... ever ...

She blinked and looked away. Could this really happen? Was he really ready for such a commitment so soon after losing his brother? ... Was she?

The ocean twinkled innocently at her. Sparkling merrily, like its surface had been encrusted with a thousand tiny diamonds. Its beauty was breathtaking. A lone deck chair floated by: white with an intricately carved back, looking supremely out of place on this gentle stretch of water. The same gentle stretch of water which, last night, opened up and swallowed a whole ship and fifteen hundred people with it, Liam's brother included. Was that why he was proposing? Carla wondered. Because the unbearable pain and crushing sense of loss were making him yearn for closeness and intimacy with another human being? Did it really matter either way?

As long as he loved her ... and she was sure he did...

Her mind was clear all of a sudden. Clearer than it had ever been before.

He already had her heart ... why not give him her hand too ...

Her eyes travelled slowly up to his face and by the time they reached his, were shining with tears. Her lips parted.

'Yes,' she whispered, her voice breathy and coarse, her eyes wide and revering.

A tiny crease appeared on Liam's forehead though his eyes were suddenly dancing with elation and jubilance. 'Yes?' he echoed, as though sure he had misheard.

'Yes,' she repeated and her voice shook slightly. The corners of her lips quirked upwards in an exuberant smile. 'I'll marry you.'

For a moment he could only stare. Then, with a quiet moan of delight, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, pressing his lips firmly to hers, regardless of who was around to stare.

Carla laughed as she pulled back, her heart lighter than it had been in what seemed like forever. She reached her hands up as he set her back on her feet, and tangled her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

'Are you sure this is what you want?' The words left her lips before she could stop them.

His answering smile was all the confirmation she needed.

She took a step back and reached for Liam's hand. It felt comforting, large and masculine, wrapped around her small, dainty fingers. 'Come on,' she smiled, 'or we'll be missed.'

Together, they re-entered the lounge. To each other, a shining beacon amidst the sea of pale, pinched faces. They silently took their seats by the Connor's, knowing that their news, whether welcome or not, would have to wait.

First, they had to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>Stan Aitken gazed unseeingly from the open window of the densely populated smoking room which was situated, as luck would have it, directly ahead of him. He had already congratulated himself on finding such a fine spot to sit, with his back to the far wall and a view, across the mass of sleeping bodies. The sea was a magnificent colour of azure and the sun shone brightly, promising another fine day but Stan's mind was elsewhere; far from the beauty of the clear blue sky and the glistening bergs.<p>

Stan Aitken was going to die.

He knew it and those who glanced around, but carefully avoided eye contact, surely knew it too. A night spent half submerged in the Atlantic Ocean, in the middle of April no less, had not much helped his already failing health and to be frank, Stan was surprised he'd managed to hold on this long.

The end was nearing now though. Those sharp pains in his chest, peaking with every inhalation, were becoming more acute. His old bones ached and his vision was starting to blur at the edges so the sky and the sea merged into one endless expanse of blue.

But Stan was at peace with his impending demise. He'd led a good life. A long life. He'd worked hard to earn his keep, married his first love, the beautiful Edna whom, he thought with a smile, he'd surely be reunited with soon. His sons and his daughter were all grown up with homes, spouses and children of their own and everything was as it should be. The world was moving on and it was time for him to leave.

Well ... almost time. It had been Stan's last wish to visit his daughter, Ethel, and her husband in New Jersey and to see the youngest of his grandchildren one last time. Then he'd return to England where his body could be interred next to his beloved.

He'd brought the final third of his life savings with him, the other two having already been pressed into the hands of his two sons, and he kept the money with him at all times, even when he was sleeping. He had worried for a while that the precious white envelope had been lost to the ocean but as the numbness receded, he had felt the package press reassuringly against his breast bone where it still lay. A comforting weight but a burden on his mind all the same. Poor Ethel might never see her share of the inheritance.

The pain was intensifying. Every breath was like a blow to the gut; every exhalation brought about a horrible rattling, wheezy sound that appeared to be coming from his very depths and brought home more than anything the reality of his imminent demise. He wondered idly what he must sound like to the ears of the good healthy folks with whom he shared the room.

His old body was wracked with a sudden round of loud hacking coughs and terrible, terrible pains in his chest and as he fought to regain what control there was to be had of his breathing, Stan caught sight of a dark-haired young man sitting to his right visibly recoil as though fearful he may catch the ailment himself. Stan clutched clumsily at the blanket some kind soul had wrapped around his frail shoulders and wished he had the strength to adjust his position on the floor. He watched as the dark-haired young man looked up and away again quickly as their eyes met. He shuffled uncomfortably and cleared his throat but Stan sensed he wasn't particularly embarrassed ... more morbidly curious. The mans eyes darted back to Stan's face and away again just as quickly. Stan noticed his clothes were not stiff and salt-encrusted like most others. He'd been one of the lucky ones then, probably hadn't even touched the water. Stan felt a pang of something not unlike jealousy.

He felt his pockets for his cigarettes, automatically it seemed, before remembering they were no longer there, lost to the ocean along with the great ship. He cursed under his breath. Hadn't the night claimed enough from him without taking his last great enjoyment too?

'smoke?' he asked the man hopefully, dismayed to hear how weak his voice sounded.

The man shook his head by way of reply.

Stan grunted. Maybe it was best not to anyway. Would probably finish him off.

'What's ... your name, lad?' the old man asked on a whim. Every word caused him considerable pain but a sudden urge, some insuppresable desire to connect with one last human being kept his eyes steady as he peered at the dishevelled looking gent who blinked and looked down between his knees to the bare floorboards beneath.

'M'name's Stan,' he said. 'Stan Aitken.'

Still the young man said nothing. On closer inspection, and Stan could not be sure with his poor sight, he looked to have two black eyes. His nose seemed very disproportionate too.

'What 'appened ... to yer face, lad?' Stan asked. He raised a hand to his chest, rubbing in small circles to try and alleviate the tight, knotting sensation and gave a grunt as a particularly sharp burst of pain rocked him.

The bedraggled young man looked up. 'Nothing,' he mumbled.

'Don't look ... like nuthin ... to me,' wheezed Stan.

The man stared at Stan for a long time but Stan couldn't decipher the expression on his face nor the look in his eyes.

'What's wrong with you?' he asked eventually. Such a simple question and yet the man spoke it in a most accusatory tone. He had a funny sort of accent, Stan thought to himself. One he couldn't quite place though it sounded familiar. Definitely not English.

'Cancer,' Stan replied with a wince. 'Up 'ere.' he used his shaking fingers to point to his chest which heaved with the effort of speaking as well as breathing.

'I'm sorry,' the young man said though he didn't particularly sound it.

Stan chose that moment to succumb to another round of dry, arduous coughs, inhaling great shuddering breaths and trying not to retch.

'Won't ... be ... much longer,' he wheezed as he resurfaced, white-faced and red-eyed. His hand disappeared between the parting of his shirt to massage the most agonized area. 'I 'oped ... to last ... another few weeks ... at least,' he said almost matter-of-factly, as though he were talking about something mundane like the weather. 'Wanted to ... visit ... the daughter ... giver her ... inheritance ...' He wasn't entirely sure what made him do it but Stan had been gripped by a sudden desire to tell someone, anyone, of his plans incase, as was looking increasingly likely, he didn't get to fulfill them himself. Perhaps this young man would complete his journey for him and see the money into the right hands. Then again, perhaps he would make off with it and start a new life for himself but what could Stan do about that? The only thing he knew for certain was that he would not be needing the money where he was going and so better to pass it on and hope for the best than leave it to be found and stolen after he was gone.

It took several minutes through the coughing and the breathlessness for Stan to convey to the young gentleman exactly what he wished for him to do. He watched as the mans ears pricked up at the mention of money, watched as he sidled closer while Stan's voice weakened.

'Of course I'll do it,' the young man said when Stan had wheezed himself into silence.

And so Stan had him slide a hand into his jacket and retrieve the precious white envelope from the inner lining. He decided to ignore the flash of greed that he thought he saw flitting across the mans face and the knowledge that he had just given a third of his entire life savings to a complete stranger but he felt better with the assurances that the money would find its way into the correct hands. All he could do now was pray.

Stan settled back against the wall and turned his eyes back to the window feeling as though a great weight had been lifted. Scottish, he thought. The mans accent was Scottish. He gave a little shudder and released a frail whisp of a breath.

The sky was so beautiful that day. Just the perfect shade of blue.

* * *

><p>'Can I take your name please, son?'<p>

The man holding the thick white envelope looked up at the steward hovering over him, clipboard in one hand, Cunarder fountain pen in the other. He was peering down, examining the two bruised eyes and for a moment, seemed to teeter on the edge of speech. Then he pursed his lips and hastily glanced back down to his clipboard, obviously deciding not to comment.

The man with the envelope looked around at his old companion who had slid down the wall until only his head remained supported, his body laying flat on the floor. One arm was splayed wide by his side and the other draped over his abdomen and although his eyes were still open, they were obviously seeing no more.

'Stan,' said Tony Gordon, tearing his eyes away from the old man and turning his attention back to the steward. 'I am Stan Aitken.'

* * *

><p><strong>Thankyou so much for reading :) Please let me know what you think.<strong>


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